XXk 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


TANCING  A  WHALE 


SHE  BLOWS! 

AND  SPARM  AT  THAT! 


BY 

WILLIAM  JOHN  HOPKINS 

Author  of  "  The  Clammer,"  "  Old  Harbor,"  "  Burbury  Stoke,"  etc. 
WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  FROM  PAINTINGS  BY 

CLIFFORD  W.  ASHLEY 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

(STlje  fittoerrfibe  preW  Cambridge 


COPYRIGHT,  IJ>23,  BY  WILLIAM  J.  HOPKINS 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


SECOND  IMPRESSION,  MARCH,  1923 


TEht  »iUf rstbt  |)rcg« 

CAMBRIDGE  ■  MASSACHUSETTS 
PRINTED  IN  THE  U.S.A. 


Or 

545* 
I-W7 


NOTE 

I  wish  to  acknowledge  my  indebtedness  to  Mr.  Clifford 
W.  Ashley  for  his  kindness  in  reading  the  proof  of  this 
book  and  in  making  various  corrections  and  suggestions. 

W.  J.  H. 


868273 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Lancing  a  Whale  Frontispiece 

Fitting  Out  12 

Cutting-In  74 

Bailing  Case  88 

Harpooning  Porpoise  122 

Lowering  Boats  194 

The  Mate  280 

A  Nantucket  Sleigh-Ride  810 


SHE  BLOWS! 


CHAPTER  I 

I  am  nearing  the  evening  of  life.  Many  people  think  of 
me,  I  know,  as  a  man  who  has  attained  to  as  much  as  one 
can  reasonably  hope  for  in  this  life  —  if  they  think  of  me 
at  all.  It  is  not  so  much,  after  all.  The  things  I  have 
aimed  for  and  missed  seem,  at  times,  much  more  impor- 
tant than  those  I  have  had.  But  I  put  this  thought  by. 
Youth  expects  a  good  deal ;  and  when  one  is  young  —  and 
for  a  long  time  after ;  indeed,  until  a  man  is  old  —  he  finds 
hope  at  the  bottom  of  the  cup,  enough  of  it  to  drown  the 
taste  of  the  bitter  draught  he  has  taken.  I  have  evolved 
the  theory  that  a  man  is  old  only  when,  the  cup  drained, 
there  is  no  hope  left  in  it.  Thank  God,  I  have  not  yet 
reached  that  point. 

But  I  am  inclined  to  reminiscence,  and  it  scares  me 
somewhat,  for  proneness  to  reminiscence  is  a  symptom  of 
age.  I  know  that  well,  and  garrulity  is  its  sister.  I  am  go- 
ing to  give  my  inclination  to  reminiscence  play  in  writing 
of  an  experience  of  my  youth.  It  may  help  to  prevent  me 
from  boring  my  friends,  and  if  you  find  this  narrative  be- 
coming tedious,  nothing  is  easier  than  to  put  the  book 
down. 

I  was  born  in  New  Bedford,  on  Mill  Street,  in  1857. 
My  father  was  Timothy  Taycox,  a  ship  carpenter,  and  a 
good  one;  a  great  whacking  man,  with  a  pleasant  face 
and  the  neck  of  a  bull.  My  mother  was  —  well,  she  was 
my  mother.  I  remember  her  always  as  kind  and  loving, 
and,  indeed,  so  was  my  father;  but  my  mother  —  well, 


2  SHE  BLOWS! 

I  cannot  seem  to  get  beyond  that  —  she  was  my  mother. 
I  must  have  tried  her  greatly  and  often,  but  she  never 
failed  me,  and  I  worshipped  her,  so  far  as  it  is  in  a  boy 
who  is  healthy  and  strong  and  a  roamer  by  nature.  I  had 
two  brothers,  one  older  and  one  younger  than  myself.  I 
might  make  a  history  of  my  relations  with  my  brothers, 
especially  the  older,  who  used  to  pick  upon  me  shame- 
fully as  long  as  I  was  unable  to  hold  my  own,  but  that 
is  none  of  my  purpose. 

My  first  school  was  on  North  Street.  My  recollections 
of  that  school  are  vivid,  and  interesting  —  to  me;  but  I 
suppose  the  school  was  not  unlike  other  schools  of  its  size 
and  character.  It  was  a  small  school,  with  about  twenty- 
five  scholars.  The  afternoon  session  was  over  at  four 
o'clock,  and  then  I  set  my  face  to  the  wharves,  as  the 
needle  to  the  pole,  except  in  the  shortest  days  of  winter. 
It  was  often  warm  for  long  periods  during  the  winter. 
Two  or  three  of  us,  kindred  spirits,  went  together,  some- 
times running  all  the  way,  sometimes  merely  wandering, 
but  always  bringing  up  at  about  the  same  place.  That 
was  generally  at  the  foot  of  Hamilton  Street.  Hamilton 
Street  is  a  little  street  not  much  more  than  a  hundred  feet 
long,  offset  from  the  foot  of  William  Street.  It  leads 
down  very  steeply  from  Water  Street  to  a  wharf,  and 
its  very  name  brings  up  before  my  mind  a  picture  of  a 
pair  of  heavy  horses  breasting  the  hill  vigorously,  drag- 
ging a  low  truck  loaded  with  barrels  of  oil,  and  stirring 
up  with  their  feet  the  powdery  black  dust  of  the  street. 

These  low  trucks  were  very  generally  used  in  New 
Bedford.  The  body  was  hung  below  the  axles,  and  cleared 
the  ground  by  perhaps  eight  inches.  They  had  no  sides, 
and  the  barrels  of  oil  were  rolled  up  on  them  and  stood 
on  end,  and  with  the  continual  shaking  and  rattling 
about  they  wore  deep  grooves  into  the  flooring  of  the 
truck.  It  was  a  new  truck  which  was  not  grooved  in  rings 
fore  and  aft  of  the  great  beam  which  served  for  an  axle. 


AN  OLD  WHALING  TOWN  S 

The  basements  of  the  buildings  on  that  steep  hill  were 
shipping  offices,  or  the  offices  of  oil  merchants,  or  the 
agents  of  ships.  Indeed,  you  could  hardly  go  into  an  office 
from  Water  Street  to  the  water-front  without  seeing  sea- 
chests  stacked  along  the  walls,  with  the  name  of  some 
ship  painted  on  the  front  of  each  chest.  Not  all  of  the 
offices  of  owners  or  agents  of  whalers  were  within  this 
area,  but  they  were  not  far  from  it.  Wing's  outfitting 
store,  where  I  suppose  all  the  business  connected  with 
their  ships  was  done,  was  on  Union  Street,  about  a  block 
above  Water. 

At  that  time  and  for  some  years  after  there  was  no 
railroad  along  the  water-front,  and  nothing  to  impede  the 
long  line  of  trucks  and  small  boys  wending  to  and  fro. 
About  where  the  railroad  is  now  there  was  usually  a  row 
of  oil  barrels  on  their  sides,  looking  fresh  and  black  and 
greasy.  Gaugers  were  apt  to  be  busy  about  them.  And 
just  beyond,  on  the  throat  of  the  wharf,  were  two  struc- 
tures like  pens,  enclosures  fenced  in  with  old  ships' 
sheathing  which  showed  plainly  the  nail  holes,  the  white 
efflorescence  and  the  greenish  stain  which  proclaimed  the 
fact  that  they  had  sailed  thousands  of  miles  of  salt  ocean 
with  the  copper  next  them.  These  pens  were  on  either 
side  of  the  entrance  to  the  wharf,  and  between  them  was 
a  lane,  deep  in  powdery  black  dust,  and  just  about  wide 
enough  for  a  truck.  Over  the  tops  of  the  fences  of  sheath- 
ing could  be  seen  seaweed  bleached  white  with  age,  and 
flourishing  green  land  weeds,  nodding  and  waving  in  the 
wind.  Under  the  seaweed,  I  was  told,  were  barrels  of  oil 
which  their  owner  had  packed  away  there  some  years  be- 
fore. He  was  waiting  for  a  rise  in  price.  The  barrels  may 
be  there  yet,  but  if  they  are  they  must  be  nearly  empty. 
The  oil  will  have  leaked  out. 

I  describe  these  things,  naturally  enough,  as  the  pic- 
ture of  them  forms  in  my  mind;  and  that  is  as  they  ap- 
peared in  the  summer.  For  I  just  about  lived  along  the 


4  SHE  BLOWS! 

wharves  and  on  the  water  during  the  summers.  I  remem- 
ber very  clearly  the  five  old  hulks  which  lay  in  the  dock 
at  the  foot  of  Union  Street.  One  of  them  was  the  bark 
Phenix.  I  cannot  now  recall  the  names  of  the  others.  All 
of  them  were  stripped  of  everything  down  to  their  masts. 
Not  a  yard  nor  a  topmast  was  left,  nor  anything  remov- 
able without  breaking  them  up.  As  I  recall  their  condi- 
tion, even  the  copper  was  gone  from  their  sides,  as  far  as 
I  could  see.  They  looked  battered  but  mighty,  and  they 
filled  me  with  sadness.  I  never  ventured  on  board  of  them, 
but  I  examined  them  minutely  and  repeatedly  from  the 
wharves  on  either  side,  and  I  knew  every  patch  and  stain. 
I  have  sat  by  the  hour  atop  of  a  pile  to  which  hawsers 
were  made  fast,  and  I  have  sailed  in  imagination  through 
storm  and  through  sunny  seas  in  those  oM  ships,  and 
have  had  all  kinds  of  hair-raising  adventures. 

It  was  a  rare  occasion  when  any  one  of  the  wharves  — 
at  any  rate  the  three  or  four  wharves  from  Union  Street 
north  —  had  no  ships  lying  beside  it.  There  were  usually 
two  or  three  beside  each  wharf,  and  sometimes  more ;  dis- 
charging or  fitting  or  being  repaired.  My  father  was  al- 
ways at  work  upon  some  ship,  on  a  staging  in  the  dock 
alongside.  I  never  tired  of  watching  him  at  work,  and 
would  sit  for  hours  on  the  stringpiece  just  above  him  or 
on  the  wharf  opposite,  while  he  removed  from  the  side  or 
the  bottom  of  the  vessel  "  hove-down "  ribs  which  had 
begun  to  rot,  and  put  others  in  their  places;  or  renewed 
the  planking  on  the  bottom. 

"  Heaving  down "  for  repairs  was  a  common  occur- 
rence. A  tackle  was  fastened  to  the  mast  and  to  a  special 
heaving-pile  on  the  wharf.  There  were  several  of  these 
heaving-piles  on  each  wharf,  each  firmly  anchored  by 
great  masses  of  rock.  I  have  seen  scores  of  ships  hauled 
down.  The  sails  were  always  unbent  —  stripped  —  from 
the  yards  almost  the  first  thing  after  a  ship  came  in,  but 
the  yards  were  often  in  place  on  a  vessel  when  she  was 


THE  SHIP  CARPENTER  AT  WORK      5 

hove  down.  They  were  braced  well  around,  of  course,  or 
she  could  not  have  been  hove  over  very  far  before  her 
main  yard  would  touch  the  wharf.  Then  they  heaved  on 
the  tackle,  and  the  vessel  was  heaved  over  upon  her  bilge, 
exposing  the  bottom  on  one  side.  I  have  often  seen  a  ves- 
sel's keel  entirely  exposed  in  this  way.  The  exposed  side 
of  the  bottom  was  as  easily  got  at  in  this  position  as  if  she 
had  been  in  dry  dock;  perhaps  rather  more  easily.  The 
carpenters  worked  from  float  stages  alongside,  and  the 
ship  was  let  up  little  by  little  as  they  worked  up  from  the 
keel.  First  the  copper  was  ripped  off,  then  the  sheathing, 
and  then  the  planking,  and  then  the  ribs  taken  out,  if 
any  of  them  needed  to  be  replaced.  I  have  seen  the  bare 
bones  of  many  a  ship  exposed  in  this  way,  and  it  would 
be  possible  to  rebuild  a  ship  completely,  first  one  side  and 
then  the  other,  without  taking  her  out  of  the  water.  I 
have  no  doubt  that  it  has  been  done. 

As  long  as  I  was  pretty  small  I  was  fairly  well  con- 
tented to  sit  on  the  stringpiece,  with  the  sun  on  my  back, 
and  watch  my  father ;  or  to  sit  on  one  of  the  low,  smooth, 
round-butted  mooring-piles  —  always  called  "  spiles  "  in 
New  Bedford  —  and  gaze  out  over  the  harbor.  It  was 
a  beautiful  harbor.  It  is  a  beautiful  harbor  now;  but 
there  seems  to  me  to  be  something  lacking,  and  less  of 
that  atmosphere  of  peace  and  serenity  which  I  loved.  Al- 
though there  are  still  a  few  of  the  old  square-riggers 
left  there  are  many  days  and  weeks  together  when  not 
one  of  them  is  at  the  wharves,  and  I  have  not  seen  a  ves- 
sel hove  down  in  many  years.  It  is  no  longer  to  be  ex- 
pected that,  as  one  turns  into  Hamilton  Street,  there 
will  appear  the  once  familiar  tracery  of  masts  and  yards 
hanging  like  a  net  before  his  eyes;  not  a  forest  of  masts, 
perhaps,  but  enough  of  them  to  warm  his  heart.  Some  of 
the  yards  had  sails  hanging  from  them  and  flapping 
gently  in  the  breeze,  and  on  some  the  sails  were  neatly 
furled,  but  most  of    them  were  bare.    A  jobbing  wagon 


6  SHE  BLOWS! 

would  be  driven  upon  the  wharf  in  a  whirl  of  the  black 
dust,  and  would  discharge  its  load  of  sailors,  many  of 
them  natives  of  one  of  the  Western  Islands,  or  of  Brava, 
some  very  black,  as  I  recall  them,  with  great  hoops  of  thin 
gold  in  their  ears;  and  their  dunnage,  some  of  it  in  sea- 
chests,  but  much  done  up  in  shapeless  bundles  in  a  gay 
colored  cloth  or  in  a  sheet.  They  were  fine,  upstanding 
men,  talking  and  laughing  among  themselves,  and  the 
familiar  way  in  which  they  handled  the  lances  and  har- 
poons and  the  other  boat-gear  excited  my  envy.  They  had 
come  from  the  home  of  such  gentry  in  South  Water  Street, 
a  part  of  the  town  known  as  Fayal.  Fayal  —  the  South 
Water  Street  Fayal  —  had  an  unsavory  reputation. 

These  men  and  the  white  sailors  who  came  with  them 
were  bound  for  the  vessel  with  sails  on  her  yards,  for 
she  was  about  ready  to  set  out  on  a  voyage  of  two  or 
three  or  four  years.  In  those  days  voyages  averaged  be- 
tween three  and  four  years  in  length.  There  was  always 
great  confusion,  as  it  seemed  to  me:  piles  of  boxes  and 
barrels  and  casks,  a  mate  or  two  shouting  orders,  sweat- 
ing men  getting  the  things  aboard,  some  lengths  of  chain 
cable,  coils  of  new  rope  which  creaked  as  they  were 
bandied,  and  innumerable  odds  and  ends.  I  watched  and 
wondered  until,  at  last,  the  tug  came  alongside,  lines 
were  cast  off,  and  the  vessel  was  taken  out  into  the  stream 
to  anchor  there  overnight.  The  crew  were  kept  busy 
there,  stowing  things,  but  even  then  there  was  apt  to  be 
a  great  litter  on  the  decks  when  she  was  finally  taken  in 
tow  by  the  tug.  The  tug  cast  her  off  somewhere  below 
Sow  and  Pigs  —  somewhere  between  Sow  and  Pigs  and 
Block  Island  —  and,  with  a  farewell  blast  of  her  whistle, 
turned  about  and  came  home  again.  But  I  did  not  wit- 
ness that  ceremony  until  I  was  fifteen. 

When  the  ship  had  hauled  out  into  the  stream  I  would 
sit  on  my  favorite  pile  and  gaze  out  at  her  and  at  the 
harbor.  She  usually  anchored  in  the  channel  near  Palmer's 


THE  WHALER  7 

Island,  almost  in  line  with  Fort  Phoenix  on  the  Fair- 
haven  side.  I  sat  on  my  pile  and  gazed  at  her,  look- 
ing trim  and  seaworthy  —  as  she  was  in  fact  —  and  en- 
vied the  black  boys  with  the  thin  gold  hoops  in  their  ears, 
and  dreamed  dreams,  as  I  suppose  all  boys  do,  even  the 
most  matter-of-fact  of  them.  Those  dreams  of  mine  were 
to  come  true.  Instead  of  the  whitewashed  walls  of  Fort 
Phoenix  and  the  whitewashed  lighthouse  on  Palmer's 
Island,  I  saw  a  heaving  ocean  under  a  sunny  sky,  and  off 
upon  the  surface  of  that  ocean  I  saw  feathery  clouds  of 
vapor  slowly  rise,  like  the  drooping  white  ostrich  plume 
on  Ann  McKim's  hat;  and  the  feathery  shafts  of  vapor 
drifted  off  and  vanished,  and  from  the  masthead  floated 
down  to  me  the  melodious  cry,  "  Bl-o-ows !"  And  I  roused 
with  a  start,  and  there  was  nothing  before  my  eyes  but 
the  low  whitewashed  brick  wall  of  Fort  Phoenix  and  the 
whitewashed  lighthouse  on  Palmer's  Island,  and  the  smil- 
ing surface  of  the  harbor,  and  the  ship  waiting  there. 

I  used  to  row  about  a  good  deal,  when  I  had  money 
enough  to  hire  a  boat  —  good  boats  were  ten  cents  an 
hour  —  or  when  I  thought  I  could  depend  upon  the  good 
nature  of  Al  Soule,  who  had  boats  to  let.  I  could  not  swim 
a  stroke.  It  is  not  unusual  for  men  who  have  much  to  do 
with  the  water  to  neglect  to  learn  to  swim.  For  a  sailor, 
what  use  is  it?  —  they  ask.  He  is  apt  to  be  weighed 
down  with  sea  boots  and  heavy  clothes,  and  the  weather 
is  usually  such  when  a  man  falls  overboard  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  pick  him  up  anyway.  Mind  you,  these  are  not 
my  own  ideas  I  am  giving.  A  whaleman  needs  to  know 
how  to  swim,  if  he  would  save  his  life,  and  not  depend 
too  nearly  upon  others.  It  is  a  good  thing  for  a  boy  to 
know,  even  if  he  is  not  going  whaling.  I  would  have  a 
boy  learn  as  soon  as  he  can  walk  —  or  a  girl  either.  It 
is  the  source  of  a  great  deal  of  pleasure. 

It  happened  that  the  father  of  my  best  friend  had  a 
boat,  a  thirty-five-foot  sloop.    Naturally   enough    I    was 


8  SHE  BLOWS!, 

asked  to  go  sailing  in  it  whenever  Jimmy  went.  Jimmy 
Appleby  was  the  boy's  name.  The  sloop  was  rather  old- 
fashioned,  even  for  those  days,  and  our  going  out  in  her 
was  not  all  play.  John  Appleby  found  us  of  some  help 
even  when  we  were  only  ten,  and  we  learned  quickly  to 
*help  in  hoisting  sail,  and  to  tend  sheets,  and  to  reef,  and 
to  steer,  and  to  do  the  other  little  odd  jobs  in  connection 
with  sailing  a  boat.  I  have  gone  out  on  the  footropes  of 
the  bowsprit  many  a  time  when  I  was  not  turned  twelve, 
and  it  had  come  on  to  blow,  and  she  was  plunging  into  a 
head  sea  —  she  pitched  fearfully,  with  her  shallow  body, 
and  a  head  sea  just  about  stopped  her  —  and  I  have  been 
trying  to  stow  the  jib  —  not  to  furl  it,  just  to  tie  it 
down  any  way  —  and  holding  on  for  my  J^fe,  and  have 
been  plunged  to  my  neck  in  one  sea  after  another  as  she 
dived  into  them.  That  sloop  was  the  champion  high  diver. 
I  do  not  think  that  that  experience  ever  imbued  me  with 
the  desire  to  learn  to  swim.  I  was  concerned  only  with 
holding  on  and  getting  my  j  ob  done  as  soon  as  possible. 

I  have  no  clear  recollection  of  my  usual  standing  at 
school,  except  that  I  have  the  impression  that  I  was  apt 
to  be  in  hot  water  from  one  cause  or  another.  I  must  have 
done  reasonably  well  in  my  studies,  for  I  graduated  from 
the  Grammar  School  before  my  fifteenth  birthday,  but  my 
active  interests  were  not  there.  The  memories  that  surge 
up  and  clamor  to  be  let  loose  are  those  of  the  water-front, 
the  wharves,  the  ships,  the  harbor,  and  the  bay. 


CHAPTER  II 

One  morning  toward  the  end  of  June  in  the  year  1872  I 
was  on  the  wharf  at  the  foot  of  Hamilton  Street,  where  I 
was  most  apt  to  be.  My  father  and  a  gang  of  ship  carpen- 
ters were  busy  at  the  bottom  of  a  ship  that  was  hove 
down  there,  and  they  were  working  on  float  stages  along 
her  side.  I  have  forgotten  the  name  of  the  ship.  It  was  yet 
eyly,  for  in  those  days  carpenters  went  to  work  at  seven 
and  stopped  at  six  or  thereabouts,  and  no  man  that  I  ever 
knew  of  the  old  class  of  artisans  would  leave  his  hammer 
in  the  air,  but  he  would  work  a  few  minutes  more,  if  that 
was  necessary  to  finish  what  he  was  at,  and  they  were  a 
contented,  happy  lot  —  superior  men,  as  a  rule. 

The  merry  sound  of  the  mauls  was  not  merry  to  my 
ears,  for  I  was  restless  and  discontented,  I  remember,  al- 
though there  was  nothing  that  should  have  made  me  so. 
But  I  was  just  through  school,  and  although  my  father 
and  my  mother  had  said  nothing  about  my  getting  to 
work,  and  my  father  had  done  nothing  about  it  —  fathers 
were  apt  to  do  something  about  it  in  those  days,  getting 
their  sons  apprenticed  to  whatever  trade  seemed  good  to 
them,  without  much  regard  to  the  preference  of  the  sons 
—  although  my  father  had  done  nothing  about  it,  I  say,  I 
knew  that  I  was  expected  to  get  to  work  with  no  more 
delay  than  was  reasonable.  Both  my  father  and  my 
mother  were  wise  people,  and  they  wanted  me  to  have 
time  and  opportunity  to  look  about  me  and  decide  for 
myself  what  I  preferred  to  do,  for  my  decision  would 
involve  my  whole  life,  very  probably,  and  greatly  affect 
my  happiness.  When  I  had  decided,  I  knew  that  I  could 
depend  upon  my  father  to  help  me  to  the  best  of  his 
ability;  and  that  would    be  considerable,  for  my  father 


10  SHE  BLOWS! 

was  a  man  of  some  influence  in  his  way,  and  especially  in 
his  trade.  He  had  already  helped  my  older  brother  Tom, 
who  had  chosen  my  father's  trade,  a  choice  which  greatly 
pleased  my  father  at  the  time.  Tom  was  at  his  ship  car- 
pentering then  on  one  of  the  stages  with  the  men,  and  he 
had  served  three  years  of  his  apprenticeship.  My  younger 
brother,  Joshua,  was  already  planning  to  go  into  the  same 
trade,  but  my  father  was  rather  lukewarm  about  it.  He 
did  not  say  why,  but  I  can  guess  now  that  he  was  begin- 
ning to  see  that  it  was  a  trade  that  was  doomed  to  ex- 
tinction. 

Joshua  had  two  years  more  at  school,  and  before  the 
two  years  were  up  he  had  changed  his  mind.  He  became 
a  machinist,  and  went  into  structural  steel  work,  and  then 
into  building  steel  ships.  In  1917  both  of  my  brothers  were 
busy:  Tom,  at  sixty-three,  turning  out  wooden  ships  at 
Bath  as  fast  as  he  could  get  the  timber  and  men  to  put 
them  together,  and  Joshua,  at  fifty-seven,  turning  out 
steel  ships  with  a  tremendous  clatter  in  a  sort  of  gigantic 
boiler-works.  I  could  not  stand  Josh's  shipyard,  while  I 
enjoyed  being  in  Tom's.  I  enjoyed  it  better  than  Tom 
enjoyed  having  me  there,  for  they  were  very  busy,  but 
the  men  were  all  old  men  and  they  could  not  be  driven  be- 
yond a  certain  pace;  but  they  came  to  the  yard  at  four 
o'clock  of  a  summer  morning. 

On  that  morning  in  Jurie,  1872,  I  was  making  my 
choice,  although  I  was  not  aware  of  it,  but  knew  only  that 
I  felt  discontented  and  uneasy  and  rather  wanted  to  fight 
somebody.  If  Jimmy  Appleby  had  been  there  I  should 
probably  have  fought  him  —  we  fought  often,  without 
rancor,  and  without  a  decision  —  and  the  whole  course  -of 
my  life  would  have  been  changed.  But  Jimmy's  father  had 
put  him  to  work,  and  he  was  not  there,  and  there  was 
nothing  for  me  to  do  but  to  wander  about  the  wharf, 
watching  the  men  swinging  their  mauls;  and  I  could  not 
see  much  of  that,  except  at  the  bow  and  the  stern,  for  the 


THE  BIRTH  OF  A  DESIRE  11 

vessel  was  hove  down  over  the  wharf,  and  her  hull  hid 
them.  From  the  other  side  of  the  dock  I  should  have  had 
a  fine  view,  but  I  saw  it  so  often  that  I  did  not  care  much 
for  it,  and  I  suppose  I  did  not  think  of  it,  being  taken  up 
with  my  restless  state  of  mind,  which  impelled  me  to  and 
fro.  It  sent  me  to  the  end  of  the  wharf,  where  I  stood 
upon  the  stringpiece  and  looked  down  into  the  water  just 
below.  It  was  of  an  unhealthy,  greenish  cast,  not  like  the 
green  of  the  sea.  It  looked  filthy,  but  I  saw  an  immense 
school  of  little  fish  nosing  around  the  piles  of  the  wharf. 

A  whaler  was  at  one  of  the  Fairhaven  wharves,  and  a 
number  of  other  boats  were  scattered  along  the  water- 
front, most  of  them  small.  I  was  about  to  look  farther 
down  toward  the  ferry  slip  and  railroad  station,  but  there 
lay  a  whaler  in  the  stream,  all  ready  to  start;  probably 
waiting  for  some  of  her  crew,  or  for  her  captain  to  get 
his  papers  at  the  Custom  House.  I  knew  the  vessel.  It 
was  the  Clearchus.  She  had  been  fitting  for  some  time,  at 
the  wharf  next  above  the  one  I  was  on,  and  I  had  watched 
the  caulkers,  the  carpenters  and  the  riggers  busy  at 
her,  each  in  their  turn.  The  desire  must  have  been  con- 
ceived and  born  and  got  well  grown  without  my  being 
aware  of  it  until  that  minute,  but  I  knew  it  then.  I  looked 
at  her  lying  there  on  the  water  that  was  ruffled  under  a 
southwest  breeze,  some  great  pennant  flying  at  her  mast- 
head —  I  suppose  it  had  her  name  on  it,  or  the  name  of 
her  owners,  for  I  know  it  was  white  with  a  blue  border 
and  some  blue  letters  in  the  centre  —  and  there  was  not 
wind  enough  to  keep  it  out  straight  enough  for  me  to  read 
the  letters,  but  it  would  roll  up  and  fall  nearly  straight 
down,  and  then  unroll  lazily  and  whip  out  to  its  length 
for  just  an  instant,  and  drop  and  roll  up  again  before  I 
could  make  out  a  single  one.  She  must  have  been  waiting 
for  her  crew,  for  I  saw  only  two  men  aboard  of  her,  and 
they  were  doing  nothing,  but  leaned  upon  the  rail,  which 
was  at  the  height  of  their  shoulders. 


12  SHE  BLOWS! 

I  had  among  my  most  treasured  possessions  two  little 
books,  in  paper-covered  boards,  "  The  Eventful  History 
of  the  Mutiny  of  the  Bounty  "  and  "  Lives  and  Voyages 
of  Early  Navigators,  with  a  History  of  the  Bucaniers." 
They  could  not  be  called  new  books  even  then,  in  1872, 
for  they  were  published  by  the  Harpers  in  1832  and 
1833.  They  are  beside  me  at  this  moment,  the  paper-cov- 
ered boards  torn  and  stained,  and  the  pages  dirty  and 
much  thumbed.  Some  of  that  thumbing  had  already  been 
done,  for  I  had  found  the  tales  of  adventure  in  the  books 
absorbingly  interesting.  No  doubt  I  was  thinking,  as  I 
gazed  at  the  Clearchus  over  the  smiling  waters  of  the 
harbor,  of  that  huge  black  savage  of  the  Patagones  who 
came  capering  and  singing  down  to  the  shore  to  greet 
Magellan,  his  face  painted  red  and  yellow;  or  of  Otaheite 
and  its  middle-aged  queen  —  if  that  is  what  she  was  —  a 
chiefess  separated  from  her  husband,  and  languishing 
for  Wallis.  Although  of  course  I  knew  better,  I  always 
thought  of  those  coasts  and  seas  as  they  were  in  the  times 
of  Magellan  and  Wallis.  I  had  an  intense  desire  to  visit 
them.  But  I  have  no  clear  recollection  of  what  I  was 
thinking  of.  I  must  have  given  a  thought  to  Jimmy 
Appleby.  I  know  that  I  stayed  there,  wandering  im- 
patiently to  and  fro,  or  standing  at  the  stringpiece  watch- 
ing the  Clearchus,  waiting  for  twelve  o'clock  and  praying 
that  her  captain  might  have  trouble  in  filling  his  crew  at 
the  last  minute. 

The  Vineyard  boat  went  curving  out  in  a  wide  sweep, 
another  came  in;  a  tugboat  pursued  its  leisurely  way 
across  the  harbor,  and  I  held  my  breath  in  fear  lest  it 
should  be  bound  for  the  Clearchus  —  with  her  crew  of 
two;  a  lightship  began  to  warp  into  the  next  dock  above, 
preparatory  to  heaving  down  for  repairs;  the  Custom 
House  boat  started  out  with  an  inspector  to  meet  a  ship 
that  had  been  sighted  down  the  bay;  two  catboats  started 
from  Al  Soule's  for  the  same  purpose;  riggers  and  steve- 


FITTING  OUT 


I  WANT  TO  GO  WHALING  13 

dores  were  busy  on  a  whaleship  in  the  dock  next  below, 
getting  her  spars  up  and  bending  on  sails;  the  leisurely 
activities  of  New  Bedford  Harbor  of  nearly  fifty  years 
ago  went  on;  the  sun  was  warm  and  the  wind  light,  and 
the  smell  of  tar  and  sperm  oil  was  heavy  on  the  air,  but 
in  the  lee  of  the  hill  the  oil  smell  overpowered  everything 
else.  I  liked  that  sickish  smell  of  crude  sperm  oil.  I  like 
it  yet.  With  that  smell  in  my  nostrils  I  have  but  to  close 
my  eyes  and  I  see  the  warm,  sunny  harbor,  some  whaler 
lying  in  the  stream  ready  to  sail,  the  fluorescent  green  of 
the  water  in  the  dock  —  its  peculiar  color  due  to  a  mix- 
ture of  oil  and  sewage  —  some  other  whaler  lying  at  the 
wharf  with  her  sails  hanging  limp  from  her  yards,  per- 
haps a  vessel  hove  down  at  the  other  side  of  the  wharf, 
and  I  heard  the  sound  of  mallets  and  the  laughter  and  the 
talk  of  men  on  the  still  air. 

Fifty  years  ago  I  was  actually  hearing  these  things, 
waiting  impatiently  for  twelve  o'clock.  But  I  waited,  for 
I  wanted  to  speak  to  my  father  alone.  At  last  I  heard  the 
bell  in  the  Stone  Church  tower  sound  noon,  but  the  sound 
of  the  mauls  did  not  stop  at  once,  but  one  after  another; 
then  a  few  strokes  of  a  single  beetle,  and  I  heard  it  laid 
down.  The  men  had  already  begun  to  come  up.  My 
father  was  the  last,  and  I  watched  him  with  some  pride, 
a  big,  brawny,  smiling  man.  I  wished  I  were  btg  and 
brawny  and  smiling,  like  him.  And  he  saw  me  standing 
there,  and  smiled  more  than  ever,  a  personal  smile  and 
tender  in  a  way. 

He  put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder.  "  Well,  Timmie,"  he 
said.  "  You  here  yet  ?  I  thought  you  would  have  gone 
home  long  ago.  Dinner '11  be  waiting.  What  is  it,  boy? 
Walk  along  with  me  and  tell  me.  I  can  see  it 's  something 
bothering  you." 

My  brother  Tom  had  started  walking  with  us,  but  we 
were  too  slow  for  him,  and  he  had  run  ahead.  It  was  Big 
Tim  and  Little  Tim.  My  father  was  always  known  as 
Big  Tim. 


14  SHE  BLOWS! 

I  did  not  know  how  to  begin,  so  I  said  nothing,  but  I 
struggled. 

My  father  saw  the  struggle.  He  smiled  again.  "  Out 
with  it,  Timmie,"  he  said. 

I  raised  my  eyes  slowly,  and  I  am  afraid  that  tears 
were  in  them. 

"  I  want  to  go  whaling,  father,"  I  blurted  out. 

His  smile  faded  swiftly.  "  Do  you  ?  "  he  said.  "  Do 
you  ?  I  hoped  it  would  n't  be  that.  It  begins  to  look  —  or 
it  has  been  looking  for  some  time  as  if  the  whaling  busi- 
ness would  die  out.  It  won't  be  a  good  business  for  some 
time,  if  it  does  n't  go  from  bad  to*  worse.  Have  you 
thought  of  that,  Timmie  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head.  "  I  want  to  go  whaling,"  I  said  again. 

He  laughed,  and  then  he  sighed.  "  It 's  a  bad  business 
for  your  mother  and  me,"  he  said,  "  to  have  our  boy 
starting  out  on  a  voyage  at  fifteen  for  three  or  four  years. 
But  if  you  will  you  will,  and  I  'd  better  see  about  getting 
you  a  berth."  He  turned  and  looked  at  the  ship  in  the 
dock  below.  "  There 's  a  vessel  the  riggers  should  be 
through  with  soon.  She  should  sail  in  a  couple  o'  weeks 
or  thereabouts.  I  might  get  you  in  there.  What  do  you 
say,  Timmie  ?  " 

"  Where  is  she  going,  father  ?  " 

"  Well,"  he  answered  slowly,  "  it 's  always  hard  to  tell 
where  a  whaler  's  going.  Wherever  whales  promise.  But 
we  braced  and  strengthened  her  for  Ar'tic  work.  She  's  a 
good  vessel  now,  Timmie,  and  thoroughly  braced.  I  think 
likely  she  '11  round  the  Horn,  and  make  the  Ar'tic  next 
season.  If  she  has  luck  in  the  South  Seas  she  may  hang 
over  there  another  winter,  and  not  try  the  Ar'tic  until  the 
next  year.  But  the  Ar'tic  's  where  she 's  going  sooner  or 
later." 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  to  the  Ar'tic,  father.  Where  's  the 
Clearchus  going  ?  " 

My  father  looked  around  in  surprise. 


I  WANT  TO  GO  WHALING  15 

'*  The  Clearchus  ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  Why  she  's  in  the 
stream.  Her  crew  '11  be  aboard  in  an  hour  or  two.  Cap'n 
Nelson  expects  to  sail  to-day." 

"  But  where  's  she  going  f  " 

"  Going  sperm  whaling,  Hatteras,  South  Atlantic,  In- 
dian Ocean,  probably,  and  South  Seas.  I  don't  know,  and 
I  don't  suppose  Cap'n  Nelson  knows.  She  is  n't  going  to 
the  Ar'tic,  that 's  sure." 

"  If  her  crew  is  n't  aboard  pretty  soon,"  I  objected, 
"  she  can't  sail  to-day." 

"  Well,  no,"  my  father  said,  "  probably  won't.  Could 
of  course,  if  he  wanted  to,  but  't  is  n't  likely.  Might  go 
below  and  anchor,  but  what  are  you  up  to,  Timmie  ? 
Going  on  the  Clearchus  ?  "  And  my  father  smiled  as  he 
asked  the  question,  as  though  it  were  absurd. 

"  I  'd  like  to,  father,"  I  said.  "  I  want  to  go  on  a  ship 
that 's  going  sperm  whaling  in  the  warm  oceans ;  to  the 
South  Seas.  I  —  I  've  always  wanted  to  see  the  South 
Seas." 

My  father  smiled  again.  " '  Always '  is  a  long  word, 
Timmie.  How  long  does  it  stand  for?  And  as  for  seeing 
an  ocean  —  why,  one  ocean  's  much  like  another  —  ex- 
cept the  Ar'tic.  You  might  think  you  were  out  on  the  bay 
with  Jimmie.  And  a  couple  of  hours'  notice  is  n't  much 
for  your  mother  and  me,  is  it,  now  ?  —  going  off  for  three 
or  four  years  ? " 

"  No-o,  I  suppose  not.  But  I  did  n't  know  what  I 
wanted  until  I  saw  the  Clearchus  out  there.  I  know  now. 
And  I  '11  come  back,  father.  Of  course  I  hate  to  leave  you 
and  mother  —  " 

My  father  laughed  at  that. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  you  seem  to.  But  never  mind,  Tim- 
mie, I  know  how  you  feel.  Perhaps  it 's  just  as  well.  We 
shan't  have  the  month  of  dreading  it,  and  it  '11  be  over 
before  we  know  it.  I  '11  do  the  best  I  can  for  you,  but  I 
can't  promise.    Nelson  may  be  having  trouble  of  soma 


16  SHE  BLOWS! 

kind.  I  '11  just  drop  in  at  the  Custom  House  on  the  chance 
of  finding  him  there,  and  if  he  is  n't  we  '11  run  ove«  to 
Wing's  to  see  what  they  can  tell  us.  But  you  mustn't 
fret  if  it  can't  be  done." 

I  almost  danced  with  joy,  and  I  promised  not  to  fret. 
I  knew  that  I  should  not  fret  at  a  thing  that  could  not 
be  done.  I  have  never  done  that.  I  do  the  most  and  the 
best  that  I  can,  and  am  quite  cheerful  over  the  outcome. 
I  was  always  the  same;  and  what  better  can  a  man  do 
than  his  best,  and  accept  the  result  with  a  cheerful  heart  ? 
But  if  we  had  made  no  attempt  to  find  the  captain  I 
should  have  fretted  at  having  left  something  undone  and 
possibly  lost  a  chance  that  I  might  have  had. 

We  had  been  walking  slowly  up  William  Street  as  we 
talked,  and  it  was  abreast  of  Eggers's  little  gunshop  — 
where  I  had  been  used  to  go  for  my  supply  of  fishlines 
and  hooks  —  that  my  father  virtually  gave  his  consent 
and  told  me  not  to  fret.  The  steep,  short  slope  of  John- 
nycake  Hill  was  just  at  our  left  —  the  Bourne  Whaling 
Museum  is  now  at  the  top  of  it  —  and  the  Custom  House 
was  but  a  few  steps  away,  on  the  upper  corner  of  the 
next  street.  I  broke  away  and  ran,  looking  back  at  my 
father  with  an  ecstatic  smile. 

My  father  laughed  again.  "  Hold  on,  Timmie,"  he 
called.  "  Where  'you  going  ?  " 

"  Custom  House,"  I  called  back.  "  Cap'n  Nelson  might 
get  away." 

So  I  ran,  leaving  my  father  laughing,  and  I  waited  im- 
patiently for  a  few  seconds  beside  one  of  the  huge  Doric 
columns  supporting  the  roof  of  the  portico  of  that  ancient 
pile  of  granite.  It  always  seemod  to  me  as  old  as  the 
Pyramids.  The  Post-office  then  occupied  the  first  floor, 
but  there  was  nobody  passing  either  in  or  out  at  that  time, 
and  my  father  joined  me  beside  the  Doric  column.  I  re- 
member that  the  broad  stone  steps  seemed  not  a  whit  too 
solid  and  strong  for  his  massive  frame  as  he  came  up. 


THE  CUSTOM  HOUSE  17 

He  said  nothing,  but  chuckled  as  he  and  I  entered  to- 
gether that  empty,  echoing  room,  and  made  for  the  stairs. 
It  was  —  and  is  yet,  I  suppose  —  a  curved  staircase  of 
stone,  and  never  failed  to  excite  my  wonder  that  it  stood 
and  performed  its  function,  for  the  granite  steps  were 
without  visible  means  of  support  at  their  outer  ends.  I 
always  mounted  it  with  trepidation,  half  expecting  that 
it  would  give  way  beneath  me  and  precipitate  me  into 
the  echoing  abyss  below.  The  stone  steps  were  somewhat 
worn  by  the  feet  of  many  captains,  and  my  own  feet  had 
contributed. 

We  entered,  and  saw  a  long  mahogany  counter  sur- 
mounted by  a  glass  fence,  behind  which  a  man  was  writ- 
ing, standing  at  the  counter.  He  had  a  long,  pointed 
beard,  sprinkled  with  gray.  He  seemed  to  be  alone  in  that 
spacious  room.  He  was  the  Deputy  Collector. 

We  started  along  beside  the  counter,  which  seemed  end- 
less, and  my  father  was  just,  opening  the  gate  when  sud- 
denly we  heard  the  sound  of  voices,  as  if  a  door  had  been 
opened.  The  voices  stopped,  and  a  man  stumped  toward 
us  vigorously.  I  should  say  now  that  he  was  a  youngish 
man,  but  then  I  thought  him  very  old.  He  was  about 
forty,  with  a  close-clipped  brown  beard  growing  nearly  up 
to  his  eyes,  which  were  gray  and  piercing,  looking  out 
from  between  half-closed  lids.  Those  eyes  gave  the  im- 
pression of  being  at  a  great  distance,  and  there  was  a 
spark  of  light  in  them  so  that  they  always  made  me  think 
of  a  lighthouse  with  its  cone  of  light.  Even  now  I  never 
see  a  lighthouse  at  a  distance  of  three  or  four  miles  that 
I  do  not  think  of  Captain  Nelson's  eyes. 

"  Hello,  Tim,"  he  said,  with  no  apparent  intention  of 
stopping. 

But  my  father  blocked  the  gateway.  He  was  a  good 
head  taller  than  Captain  Nelson. 

"  I  'd  like  to  have  a  word  with  you,  Cap'n,  if  you  have 
time.  I  won't  keep  you  long.  Don't  you  want  a  boy  ?  " 


18  SHE  BLOWS! 

"  A  boy  ?  One  of  your  boys  ?  This  the  one  ?  "  He  took 
me  by  the  arm  and  made  me  face  him.  I  was  smiling  ner- 
vously. "  You  want  to  go  whaling  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir/'  I  said  as  steadily  as  I  could.  "  That  is,  I 
want  to  go  if  you  're  going  to  the  South  Seas." 

Captain  Nelson  laughed.  "  No  Ar'tic  in  yours,  eh  ? 
What  you  want  to  go  to  the  South  Seas  for  ?  We  don't  lie 
'round  under  palm  trees  and  eat  breadfruit  and  watch 
the  surf  breaking  on  coral  sands,  like  the  pictures  in  your 
geography  books.  What  'you  been  getting  hold  of  ?  " 

I  squirmed  and  got  very  red,  and  stammered  and  said 
nothing.  4 

Captain  Nelson  laughed  again,  and  gave  me  a  little 
shake  and  let  me  go. 

"  Well,  Tim,  no  need  to  ask  about  any  of  your  boys. 
You  recommend  him,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  I  do,  Cap'n.  I  'm  sorry  he  's  taken  with  whaling,  and 
that 's  the  truth ;  and  it 's  rather  sudden,  for  he  's  only 
told  me  within  the  last  half-hour,  and  his  mother  and  I 
will  hate  to  have  him  go  off  for  three  or  four  years.  But 
if  that 's  what  he  wants  I  'd  better  help  than  try  to  hinder 
him." 

Captain  Nelson  nodded.  "  May  be  five  years,  Tim.  No 
knowing."  He  turned  suddenly  to  me.  "  What 's  your 
name  ?  " 

"  Tim,  sir." 

"  Well,  little  Tim,  I  guess  we  can  find  room  for  you. 
May  not  get  the  crew  in  time  to  sail  to-night.  Probably 
won't.  But  you  'd  better  be  on  hand  and  keep  an  eye  out 
for  us.  Bright  and  early  in  the  morning,  anyway." 

He  nodded  again,  got  his  clearance  papers,  and 
stumped  out.  I  stared  stupidly  after  him. 

My  father  sighed.  "  Well,  Timmie,  that  was  soon  done. 
We  '11  be  late  for  dinner.  Come  along." 

And  I  said  nothing,  but  pegged  along  beside  him  down 
the  echoing  stone  stairs,  my  elation  rapidly  oozing  out  at 


LEAVING  HOME  19 

my  finger-tips.  I  was  beginning  to  think  of  the  other  side 
of  it  —  his  side  and  my  mother's  —  and  to  be  more  than 
half  sorry  for  my  haste;  but  what  is  done  is  done.  Boys 
—  and  girls  too  —  are  thoughtlessly  cruel,  fortunately  for 
them  and  the  world. 

I  could  not  eat  much  dinner,  but  went  off  to  my  room 
to  pack  a  few  things,  among  them  my  two  precious  books. 
It  was  not  a  large  bundle  that  I  tied  up.  My  father  must 
have  told  my  mother  as  soon  as  I  had  gone,  for  she  came 
up  to  my  room  as  I  was  tying  up  my  bundle.  She  had  been 
crying,  and  tears  were  yet  in  her  eyes,  but  she  smiled  di- 
vinely as  she  stood  in  my  doorway. 

"  Well,  Timmie,  darling,"  she  said  gently,  "  so  you  're 
going  to  leave  us.  Four  years  is  a  long,  long  time  to  look 
forward  to  without  you.  I  had  hope  that  you  would 
choose  something  else.  But  if  you  had  to  choose  this  it 's 
better  to  have  it  soon  over,  and  not  to  have  a  month  of 
dreading  it.  And  I  '11  say  nothing  but  God  bless  you  and 
God  keep  you,  my  precious  !  "  She  sat  on  the  bed.  "  Come 
here,  darling  boy,  and  let  me  have  one  hug  and  a  kiss  to 
remember." 

So  I  went,  and  I  threw  my  arms  around  her  neck,  and 
I  hid  my  face.  We  stayed  so  for  a  long  time,  she  rocking 
back  and  forth,  hugging  me  hard,  and  whispering  to  me. 


CHAPTER  III 

The  Clearchus  did  not  get  off  that  day,  and  at  six  o'clock 
my  father  and  I  walked  home  together,  my  heart  like 
lead.  The  evening  passed  somehow.  We  all  went  up  to 
bed  at  nine,  as  we  always  did,  while  the  bell  on  the  Stone 
Church  was  ringing  the  curfew;  but  we  might  as  well 
have  stayed  up  for  two  or  three  hours  longer,  for  I  could 
not  sleep,  and  I  am  sure  that  my  mother  could  not.  It  had 
begun  to  rain,  a  dreary  drizzle,  before  I  finally  fell 
asleep. 

I  was  awakened  to  find  my  mother  standing  in  my 
doorway.  She  was  smiling,  but  she  looked  as  if  she  had 
not  slept  well.  It  was  already  after  six.  I  jumped  up,  slid 
into  my  clothes  hastily,  and  joined  the  family  at  break- 
fast, but  I  could  scarcely  eat.  I  was  glad  when  my  father 
pushed  back  his  plate  and  got  up.  I  said  good-bye  simply 
enough  to  my  brothers,  and  they  said  good-bye  to  me,  but 
they  did  not  get  up.  They  did  not  even  stop  eating.  My 
mother  came  to  the  door  with  us.  Tears  stood  in  her  eyes, 
but  she  smiled  as  she  gave  me  a  long,  close  hug.  I  re- 
turned her  hug  and  her  kiss,  but  I  was  very  near  to  tears 
and  I  could  not  speak,  so  I  bolted  out  at  the  door  into 
the  rain  after  my  father,  and  I  waved  my  hand  to  her. 
That  was  another  picture  that  I  carried  locked  in  my 
breast  of  my  mother  standing  at  the  open  door,  in  the 
dreary  drizzle,  looking  after  me  and  smiling.  Mothers 
have  a  good  deal  to  bear.  I  wonder  that  they  stand  it. 

We  did  not  get  off  until  after  ten  o'clock.  I  was  the 
first  to  see  it  —  I  mean  the  job  wagon  with  its  load  of 
men  and  bundles.  It  was  being  driven  on  to  the  next 
wharf  below  —  Central  Wharf  it  was,  although  I  did  not 
know  the  wharves  infallibly  by  name  then.  I  called  to 


SHIPMATES  21 

my  father,  took  up  my  bundle,  and  walked,  rather  slowly, 
I  am  afraid,  around  the  head  of  the  dock.  The  afternoon 
before  I  should  have  run.  My  father  caught  up  with  me 
at  the  head  of  the  wharf. 

The  wagon  was  unloading  about  halfway  down  the 
wharf  when  we  got  there,  and  the  men  were  taking  out 
their  bundles.  Those  bundles  were  of  all  sizes  and  all 
colors,  but  all  were  shapeless,  a  few  in  neat  canvas  bags, 
several  in  pillow-cases,  and  the  others  in  gay  flame-col- 
ored cloths,  red  and  orange  and  a  peculiar  blue,  but  the 
predominating  color  was  some  shade  of  magenta.  It  is  curi- 
ous how  fond  those  Western  Islanders  are  of  magenta. 
The  men  were  grouping  themselves,  squatting  on  their 
bundles  in  the  drizzle,  or  sitting  on  the  rounded  tops  of 
the  mooring-piles  or  on  the  stringpiece,  or  standing.  I 
noticed  only  three  of  them:  a  great,  gaunt,  very  black 
man,  with  thin  hoops  of  gold  in  his  ears,  who  stood  im- 
passively, his  arms  folded  across  his  breast,  and  gazed 
at  nothing  and  did  not  speak;  a  smaller  man,  also  in- 
tensely black  and  with  similar  gold  hoops  in  his  ears,  who 
sat  atop  of  a  pile  and  smiled  and  poured  a  steady  stream 
of  talk  that  I  could  not  understand  up  to  the  first,  and 
the  gaunt  man  smiled  now  and  then,  showing  a  set  of 
teeth  that  were  sharp  and  of  a  dazzling  whiteness;  and 
a  very  old  man,  who  I  suppose  was  originally  a  white 
man,  with  fingers  permanently  bent,  like  talons,  and  very 
wrinkled  face  that  looked  like  leather  in  texture  and  in 
color.  He  was  sitting  on  the  stringpiece,  his  neat  canvas 
bag  between  his  knees,  and  looking  up  at  the  two  black 
men;  and  occasionally  there  would  flit  over  his  face  a  hu- 
morous smile,  leaving  the  look  of  humor  there.  On  the 
whole  it  was  a  quiet  crowd,  and  merry  enough,  consider- 
ing the  weather.  A  man,  who  I  found  afterwards  was  the 
second  mate,  moved  slowly  around  among  the  groups  and 
finally  stood  still,  holding  converse  with  none  and  gazing 
out  over  the  harbor. 


22  SHE  BLOWS! 

The  old  man  cast  his  humorous  eye  up  at  my  father. 

"  Lovely  morning,"  he  said. 

My  father  laughed.  "If  you  take  it  to,"  he  said,  "  it  'a 
better.  After  all,  what  does  the  weather  matter  to  an  old 
sailorman  like  you  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit.  I  never  let  it  make  any  difference  to  me. 
But  the  talk  of  these  lads,"  he  said,  waving  a  weather- 
beaten  hand,  with  its  talon-fingers,  at  the  two  black  men, 
"  always  makes  me  want  to  laugh.  It  sounds  like  monkey 
talk." 

"  Don't  you  understand  it  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  "  Not  me.  I  nevar  learned  Portagee. 
I  should  die  laughin'  if  I  tried.  They  had  none  in  the 
navy  in  my  day." 

My  father  was  interested.  "  Have  you  been  in  the  navy  ? 
I  should  have  said  merchant  vessels,  but  I  did  n't  think 
of  the  navy." 

The  old  man  nodded.  "  Oh,  aye,"  he  said.  "  It  was  the 
navy  until  the  war  was  over,  and  I  was  too  old  for  that, 
and  then  the  merchant  service  for  a  couple  o'  years,  and 
then  whalin'.  Whalin'  's  easier.  They  don't  drive  a  vessel 
so.  You  weren't  goin'  on  this  ship?  " 

My  father  smiled,  and  laid  his  great  arm  across  my 
shoulders. 

"  No,  I  'm  not  going,  but  —  " 

"  The  boy  ?  "  the  old  man  interrupted.  "  Is  he  so  ? 
Well,  can  I  be  sort  of  lookin'  after  him  ?  I  'd  take  him 
under  my  wing  with  pleasure,  perhaps  teach  him  a  thing 
or  two,  and  try  to  keep  him  out  o'  trouble." 

My  father  was  pleased,  and  accepted  the  old  sailor's 
offer;  and  he  told  him  of  his  own  experience  in  the  navy, 
and  they  swapped  yarns  for  half  an  hour.  The  old  man 
had  been  a  boatswain  in  the  navy.  He  was  only  fifty-eight, 
he  said.  I  don't  wonder  he  put  it  that  way.  The  second 
mate  had  moved,  and  I  looked  up  and  saw  the  Helen 
Augusta,  our  largest  tugboat,  just  about  to  make  a  land- 
ing at  the  end  of  the  wharf. 


CASTING  OFF  23 

I  seized  my  father's  arm  in  a  panic. 

He  smiled.  There  was  something  infinitely  protective 
in  my  father's  smile. 

"  I  'm  going  down  with  you,  Timmie,  and  come  back 
in  the  tug.  It 's  too  wet  to  work,  luckily,  so  it  won't  make 
any  difference  to  me,  and  I  guess  Cap'n  Nelson  '11  let 
me  go.  Unless,"  he  added,  looking  at  me  suddenly, 
"  you  'd  rather  not  have  me.  Perhaps  you  'd  rather  say 
good-bye  here.  If  you  would  I  'd  understand  it." 

I  shook  my  head,  and  clung  fast  to  his  arm.  I  could 
not  have  spoken  to  save  my  life.  The  old  sailor,  my  new 
friend,  was  rolling  along  beside  us,  his  canvas  bag  over 
his  shoulder  and  sticking  out  a  foot  or  two  fore  and  aft. 
He  glanced  at  me  and  smiled,  and  we  all  trooped  aboard 
the  tug  on  to  her  upper  deck,  and  the  men  filed  down  the 
ladder  to  a  place  where  it  was  dry  and  warm. 

We  were  about  to  follow  them  wh«n  we  were  hailed 
from  the  pilot  house.  We  obeyed  the  beckoning  finger, 
and  in  the  pilot  house  we  found  Captain  Nelson  and  the 
captain  of  the  tugboat,  a  silent,  sour-faced  man  whose 
name  I  cannot  now  remember,  although  it  was  then  very 
familiar  to  me.  Another  man  was  leaning  on  the  window- 
sill,  his  head  outside,  and  one  hand  grasping  a  spoke  of 
the  wheel.  He  shouted  some  orders,  pulled  the  bell,  and 
we  backed  for  a  minute  against  a  stern  hawser.  Then  he 
pulled  the  bell  once,  and  the  chug  of  the  engine  stopped; 
before  the  water  had  stopped  its  swirling  past  the  side 
he  pulled  the  bell  again,  the  engine  chugged  once  more, 
and  the  bows  turned  faster  toward  the  harbor.  I  was 
looking  out  at  the  wharves  through  a  glass  covered  with 
little  fine  drops  of  mist,  and  I  saw  one  of  the  men  on  the 
wharf  lift  the  bight  of  heavy  line  over  the  top  of  the 
mooring-pile'  and  drop  it  into  the  water  as  we  began  to 
go  ahead.  The  man  at  the  wheel  pulled  the  jingle  bell, 
and  the  engine  chugged  faster,  and  I  could  hear  little 
familiar  noises  from  the  engine,  as  though  it  had  settled 
down  for  a  day's  work. 


24  SHE  BLOWS! 

I  was  still  looking  out  through  the  misty  glass  at  the 
rapidly  receding  wharves,  with  the  vessel  that  the  rig- 
gers were  not  through  with,  the  other  that  my  father  was 
working  on  hauled  down,  the  stagings  floating  in  the 
dock  beside  her;  the  lightship  in  the  process  of  being 
hove  down;  the  pens  of  sheathing  and  the  rows  of  oil 
barrels;  the  tops  of  the  wharves  themselves,  every  foot 
of  which  I  knew  intimately.  I  wondered  when  I  should 
next  set  foot  on  those  familiar  wharves;  the  picture 
blurred  a  little,  and  it  was  not  the  rain.  But  I  was  not 
quite  fifteen,  and  I  was  going  away  on  a  voyage  of  four 
or  five  years.  At  fifteen,  four  or  five  years  might  as  well 
be  four  or  five  aeons.  Our  turning  had  cut  off  my  view  of 
the  wharves,  and  we  had  straightened  out  for  the  Clear- 
chus,  and  the  rain  was  coming  dead  ahead. 

We  were  drawing  alongside  the  Clearchus,  and  we 
made  fast  and  the  crew  went  over  the  side  stolidly,  al- 
though some  of  them  seemed  merry  enough,  and  my  old 
sailor  took  the  whole  thing  as  a  joke.  Then  Captain  Nel- 
son went,  and  my  father  and  I.  By  the  time  I  had  got 
on  the  deck  of  the  ship  the  captain  had  gone  aft  and  was 
talking  with  the  mate. 

I  had  never  happened  to  be  on  the  Clearchus  before, 
and  neither  had  I  been  on  any  whaler  just  starting  on  a 
voyage.  Her  deck  was  well  cluttered  with  all  sorts  of 
stuff,  which  there  had  been  no  time  to  stow  below,  and  no 
men  to  do  it.  Some  of  it  was  covered  roughly  with  tar- 
paulins to  keep  it  from  the  wet,  and  it  was  shoved  into 
corners  or  littered  the  alleyways  between  the  great 
brick  try-works  and  the  bulwarks.  The  deck  itself  — 
where  it  showed  at  all  —  was  covered  with  a  film  of  mois- 
ture, and  seemed  to  have  sweated  just  oil  enough  to  make 
it  very  slippery. 

The  deck  of  an  old  whaler  is  full  of  odd  structures.  On 
almost  all  old  whaleships  there  were  two  small  deck- 
houses aft,  one  on  either  side,  with  the  wheel  and  the  cabin 


THE  CLEARCHUS  25 

skylight  between  them;  and  on  many  ships  this  space  was 
roofed  over,  giving  the  steersman  protection  in  bad 
weather.  This  was  the  case  on  the  Clearchus;  and  there 
was  another  structure  just  forward  of  this  after  house. 
This  "  gallows,"  as  it  is  called,  was  no  more  than  a  roof 
covering  the  booby-hatch  —  which  led  to  the  steerage ; 
where  the  boat-steerers  slept  —  supported  on  posts  at  the 
corners,  the  posts  inclined  sharply  inward  at  the  angle  of 
the  standing  rigging.  On  the  top  of  this  roof  were  three 
spare  whale-boats,  bottom  up.  There  was  a  third  structure 
—  merely  a  roof  —  just  aft  of  the  foremast,  over  the  try- 
works.  The  galley  was  in  the  starboard  side  of  the  after 
house,  which  may  strike  some  as  a  very  queer  place  for  it, 
but  it  was  always  so  on  a  whaler.  It  was  necessarily 
very  small,  taking  up  less  than  half  of  that  side.  The 
cabin  stairs,  or  companion,  were  in  the  port  side  of  the 
after  house. 

We  took  refuge  under  the  gallows  over  the  booby-hatch, 
from  which  point  we  had  as  clear  a  view  of  the  deck  as 
it  was  possible  to  have  anywhere  except  from  the  scup- 
pers. The  deck  was  anything  but  clear,  and  the  man  at 
the  wheel  saw  the  great  butts  of  the  masts,  the  try-works, 
and  other  things  of  a  more  temporary  nature,  but  little 
of  the  deck,  and  of  the  sea  before  the  ship  and  of  the  sky 
above  nothing  at  all.  There  was  no  need  for  him  to  see 
either.  He  had  an  unobstructed  view  of  the  compass. 

The  tug  took  us  about  twenty-five  miles,  but  it  seemed 
an  unbearably  short  journey  on  that  dull,  rainy  morning. 
The  silence  was  broken  only  by  the  soft  noise  of  the  sea, 
and  of  the  ship  going  through  it,  and  by  the  creak  and 
groan  of  the  hawser  on  the  bitts  and  of  the  yards  in  the 
slings  as  she  rose  and  fell  gently;  and  by  the  sound  of 
the  water  dripping  from  the  yards  and  rigging  upon  the 
deck,  and  now  and  then  a  voice.  Altogether  it  was  a  silent, 
gray,  dismal  journey.  Coils  of  rope  hung  from  the  belay- 
ing pins  near  me,  and  they  swung  regularly  with  the 


26  SHE  BLOWS! 

motion  of  the  ship.  I  wished  that  they  would  stop.  They 
did  not,  of  course,  except  for  a  moment,  regularly;  then 
they  began  again. 

The  time  was  coming  soon  when  the  tug  would  cast 
off,  and  my  father  must  go  back.  We  got  beyond  Devil's 
Bridge,  with  the  Vineyard  looming  indistinctly,  but 
scarcely  visible,  on  our  weather  beam.  The  tug  whistled, 
and  Captain  Nelson  came  to  us. 

"  Well,  Tim,"  he  said,  "  I  guess  you  '11  have  to  get 
ready.  It 's  too  rough  for  the  tug  to  come  alongside,  but 
I  '11  send  you  over  in  a  boat.  She  's  dropping  us  now." 

My  father  said  he  was  sorry  to  be  so  much  trouble; 
and  Captain  Nelson  said  it  was  no  matter,  that  it  would 
be  good  practice  for  the  crew.  Then  he  looked  at  me,  and 
put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"  Timmie,"  he  said  gently,  "  you  have  n't  signed  yet, 
and  if  you  want  to  go  back  with  your  father  I  '11  send 
you." 

I  shook  my  head  furiously.  "  No,  thank  you,  sir,"  I 
said.  "  I  '11  sail  with  you  —  if  you  want  me  —  if  you  '11 
take  me." 

How  could  I  back  out  then  ?  I  should  have  been  a 
laughing-stock  for  years,  and  I  should  never  have  a  bet- 
ter chance.  But  I  did  want  to  go  back  with  my  father. 

Captain  Nelson  smiled.  "  I  '11  take  you,  and  you  '11  get 
over  your  homesickness  when  we  get  a  sight  of  the  sun. 
It 's  a  dismal  day  to  start  off." 

They  cast  off  the  hawser,  and  backed  the  main  topsail, 
and  the  vessel  lay  there  with  the  seas  beating  upon  her 
while  the  tug  came  up  abeam,  and  lay  rolling.  And  they 
came  and  cast  loose  the  very  boat  we  were  standing  un- 
der, and  the  men  tailed  on  to  the  falls,  and  the  boat  was 
lowered  until  it  was  level  with  the  rail;  and  two  of  the 
crew  tumbled  in  to  look  after  the  falls,  and  my  father 
gave  me  one  hug,  and  I  clung  to  him  for  a  moment. 

"  Good-bye,  Timmie,"  he  whispered.   "  I  '11  give  your 


LAST  GOOD-BYE  27 

love  to  your  mother.  Be  a  good  boy,  and  do  a  little  morn 
than  is  expected  of  you.  Be  ready  to  do  a  man's  work 
when  you  are  able,  and  let  us  be  proud  of  you  when  you 
come  home." 

The  men  began  to  slack  away  on  the  falls.  I  watched 
the  men  slide  down  the  falls  as  the  boat  touched  the 
water,  my  father  among  them;  and  the  falls  were  un- 
hooked quickly,  two  men  holding  her  off  from  the  side  of 
the  ship.  Then  they  shoved  off,  the  five  long  oars  took  the 
water,  and  they  rowed  to  the  tug,  the  whaleboat  rising  to 
the  seas  as  lightly  as  a  cork.  And  they  drew  alongside  the 
tug,  but  did  not  stop,  and  my  father  stepped  out  upon 
the  broad  rail  of  the  tug  and  down  upon  her  deck,  and 
turned  to  wave  to  me. 

As  the  boat  came  back  the  tug  started,  with  long  blasts 
of  her  whistle  as  a  message  of  farewell  to  us.  My  father 
still  stood  in  the  gangway,  close  to  her  house,  and  waved 
to  me.  I  watched  her  as  long  as  I  could  see  her,  a  mite  — • 
•  speck  tossing  on  the  heaving  sea. 


CHAPTER  IV 

By  the  next  morning  the  skies  had  cleared,  and  there  was 
bright  sun,  with  a  light  breeze  from  the  southwest.  It 
had  begun  to  clear  soon  after  midnight,  and  the  stars  had 
.come  out  one  by  one,  with  drifts  of  ragged  scud  flying 
over.  I  had  not  seen  it,  but  I  was  sleeping  soundly,  after 
some  miserable  hours,  for  I  was  a  very  homesick  boy. 
Mother  and  father  —  even  brothers  —  and  home  never 
seemed  so  dear  or  so  far  away,  and  I  seemed  to  be  cut 
off  from  them  completely.  I  had  no  pangs  of  seasickness, 
either  then  or  later,  for  which  I  suppose  I  should  be 
thankful;  but  I  did  not  give  that  matter  a  single  thought, 
as  far  as  I  can  remember.  I  suppose  my  mind  was  too 
thoroughly  taken  up  with  its  own  wretchedness  to  worry 
about  a  possible  wretchedness  of  body.  And  a  full  reali- 
zation of  my  wretched  and  miserable  state  came  upon  me 
the  instant  I  was  fully  awake,  with  a  distinct  stab  at  my 
heart.  A  few  tears  trickled  from  my  eyes,  and  my  heart 
was  like  lead  until  I  stepped  out  upon  deck  and  saw 
the  sun  and  a  quiet  sea,  misty  about  the  horizon,  and  the 
bark  making  her  way  through  it  under  easy  sail,  rolling 
a  very  little,  lazily,  and  the  men,  barefooted,  scrubbing 
the  decks  as  clean  as  might  be  of  their  coating  of  oil  with 
the  water  standing  upon  it  in  little  separate  drops,  like 
dew.  I  know  the  deck  had  a  queer,  greasy,  frosty  look, 
and  fairly  large  drops  had  gathered  and  stood  up,  little 
smooth  hills,  about  two  or  three  inches  apart.  The  water 
from  the  hose  and  the  men  with  their  swabs  made  these 
hills  disappear  like  magic,  together  with  the  frosty  look 
of  the  deck.  Tarpaulins  in  irregular  heaps  still  covered 
piles  of  stuff  here  and  there  on  the  deck,  which  the  men 
avoided  as  well  as  they  could. 


PETER  BOTTOM  29 

One  of  the  men  swabbing  the  deck  was  my  old  friend 
the  old  navy  man,  whose  name  I  found  was  Peter  Bottom. 
The  two  very  black  men  with  gold  hoops  in  their  ears 
were  there  too,  the  tall  one  as  silent  and  dignified  as  ever, 
but  working  well,  and  the  shorter  one  gay  and  garrulous, 
but  seldom  evoking  from  the  other  as  much  as  a  smile. 
What  these  men's  real  names  were  I  never  knew,  and  it 
does  not  matter  what  they  were.  The  tall  one  always  went 
by  the  name  of  Tony,  and  the  shorter  one  by  the  name  of 
Man'el. 

Peter  Bottom  looked  up  at  me,  and  smiled  and  winked, 
and  worked  nearer  with  his  swab.  There  was  a  quar- 
terdeck on  the  old  Clearchus,  and  a  break  in  the  deck 
with  one  low  step  up  to  the  part  covered  by  the  after 
house.  I  was  standing  on  that  step  and  leaning  against 
the  house,  for  I  did  not  want  to  get  into  the  water  that 
was  flowing  so  freely.  When  Peter  had  worked  near 
enough,  he  told  me  in  low  tones  that  if  I  would  hunt  him 
up  later  he  would  impart  some  information  that  might  be 
useful  and  the  beginning  of  my  education. 

The  men  were  busy  nearly  all  day  getting  the  decks 
reasonably  clear,  and  the  stuff  stowed  below,  and  it  was 
not  until  late  in  the  afternoon  that  I  found  Peter  Bot- 
tom standing  by  the  windlass,  gazing  out  to  the  eastward. 
The  wind  was  light,  as  it  had  been  all  day,  and  it  looked 
very  quiet  and  peaceful  out  there,  with  a  grayish  haze  all 
along  the  horizon.  The  water  toward  the  west,  on  the 
weather  side,  was  too  bright  to  look  at  with  comfort. 
There  was  still  a  very  slight  heave  of  the  sea  left  from 
the  night  before.  Many  of  the  crew  were  standing  about, 
or  sitting  on  the  forecastle,  but  they  were  not  saying  much. 

Peter  looked  up  as  I  approached.  He  had  a  sort  of 
permanent  smile  on  his  face,  a  pleasant,  humorous  ex- 
pression of  perpetual  amusement.  This  deepened  to  a  per- 
sonal smile  when  he  saw  me. 

*'  Here  you  are,  my  lad,"  he  said.  "  I  was  just  thinking 


30  SHE  BLOWS! 

about  you,  and  that  I  'd  have  to  go  after  you  if  I  could 
contrive  a  way.  Now  to  begin  at  the  beginning,  what 
might  your  name  be  ?  " 

"Tim,"  I  answered;  "Tim  Taycox." 

"  A  good  name,"  he  said.  "  I  had  a  shipmate  named 
Tim  once,  but  he  did  no  credit  to  the  name.  My  name  's 
Peter  Bottom."  That  was  how  I  found  out  his  name,  al- 
though I  have  used  it  already.  "  A  queer  name,  Bottom, 
but  it 's  none  of  my  responsibility,  my  name.  You  '11  call 
me  Peter,  and  so  we  '11  get  rid  of  It.  Now,  tell  me  what 
you  know  about  whaling,  so  I  '11  know  where  to  begin. 
There  's  no  sense  in  telling  you  what  you  know  a'ready. 
And  then  you  might  tell  what  you  know  of  ships  and  of 
sailing,  for  I  s'pose  you've  knocked  about  some  in  small 
boats,  living  in  New  Bedford." 

Now,  what  I  really  knew  about  whaling  was  nothing  at 
all,  although  I  had  always  heard  it  talked  about,  and  had 
absorbed  as  much  in  that  way  as  a  boy  can  who  has  seen 
nothing  but  the  shore  end  of  it.  So  I  told  Peter  just  that, 
and  I  told  him  of  my  experiences  in  boats. 

"  What 's  your  lay  ?  "  asked  Peter  Bottom  suddenly. 

"  My  lay  ?  "  I  stammered.  "I  —  I  don't  know." 

"  Don't  you  know  what  I  mean  ?  "  he  pursued.  "  Every 
man  on  board  has  a  part  o'  the  voyage  —  the  catch  —  in- 
stead o'  wages." 

I  am  afraid  I  interrupted  him  rather  indignantly.  Of 
course  I  knew  that,  but  I  had  not  the  least  idea  what  the 
share  of  each  man  was.  He  enlightened  me.  First  he  told 
me  that  the  share  of  the  boy  was  one  two-hundredth.  | 
That  would  give  me,  if  our  take  of  whales  amounted  to 
fifty  thousand  dollars,  the  princely  sum  of  two  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  for  four  years'  work.  That  did  not  seem 
very  much,  but  Peter  comforted  me  by  saying  that  Cap- 
tain Nelson  was  a  good  master,  and  had  the  reputation 
of  making  good  voyages,  and  it  was  likely  that  I  would 
get  more  than  that.  He  told  me  that  the  owners  took  two 


THE  LAYS  OF  THE  CREW  SI 

thirds  of  the  take  for  their  share,  and  furnished  the  ves- 
sel and  fitted  her,  and  fed  the  crew  throughout  the  voy- 
age, and  made  whatever  advances  were  necessary.  If  the 
ship  made  a  "  broken  voyage,"  as  an  unprofitable  voyage 
was  called,  it  might  easily  result  in  considerable  loss  to 
the  owners,  while  the  crew  at  least  could  not  lose  on  it. 
Such  unprofitable  voyages  were  few,  however.  It  was 
everything  to  get  a  lucky  master.  Captain  Nelson  had  the 
reputation  of  being  a  very  lucky  master,  and  the  Clear- 
chus  had  always  been  a  fairly  lucky  ship.  Peter  had  satis- 
fied himself  on  those  points  before  signing,  and  he  sup- 
posed that  all  the  best  men  of  the  crew  had  been  equally 
particular.  It  was  easy  to  get  a  good  crew  for  a  ship  and 
a  captain  known  to  be  lucky,  and  often  very  hard  to  get 
any  kind  of  a  crew  for  a  captain  without  that  reputation. 

He  told  me  further  that  Captain  Nelson's  lay  was  one 
tenth,  which  is  the  largest  that  was  given  to  a  captain; 
the  mate's  one  twentieth,  for  our  mate,  Jehoram  Baker, 
was  also  a  good  man.  A  first  mate's  lay  ranges  from  one 
eighteenth  to  one  twenty-fifth.  Our  second  mate,  Alonzo 
Wallet,  was  "  nothin'  to  brag  on,"  as  Peter  whispered, 
but  he  got  the  regular  second  mate's  lay  of  one  thirty- 
fourth.  The  third  mate,  John  Brown,  had  a  lay  of  one 
forty-fifth;  the  fourth  and  fifth  mates  got  a  little  less 
than  that;  and  the  five  boatsteerers  got  from  one  one- 
hundred-and-eighteenth  to  one  one-hundred-and-fiftieth. 
Five  mates  may  seem  an  excessive  number.  I  know  it 
seemed  so  to  me,  but  the  Clearchus  was  a  five-boat  ship, 
and  needed  five  boatheaders.  How  Peter  found  out  the 
amount  of  the  captain's  and  the  mates'  lays  I  never  knew ; 
possibly  it  was  only  gossip.  Then  he  gave  me  the  lays  of 
the  rest  of  the  crew. 

The  cooper  got  one  sixty-third;  the  steward  one  nine- 
tieth; the  cook  one  one-hundred-and-twentieth  and  half 
the  slush ;  what  the  slush  was  I  did  not  know  at  the  time, 
although  anybody  of  any  intelligence  ought  to  have  been 


32  SHE  BLOWS! 

able  to  guess  that  it  was  the  refuse  from  the  galley.  I  be- 
came familiar  enough  with  slush  before  I  got  home  again, 
and  a  bucket  of  slush  will  come  nearer  to  turning  my 
stomach  than  anything  else.  It  consists  chiefly  of  grease, 
often  turned  rancid.  Many  a  bucket  of  it  have  I  carried 
to  the  masthead,  and  have  applied  it  generously  and  rap- 
idly to  the  mast  all  the  way  down,  for  I  was  always 
anxious  to  get  that  job  done  and  to  get  rid  of  my  slush 
bucket  as  soon  as  possible. 

But  to  come  back  to  Peter  Bottom  and  the  lays.  The 
lays  of  foremast  hands  varied  according  to  their  ability 
from  one  one-hundred-and-fiftieth  to  one  two-hundredth, 
but  Peter's  own  lay  was  one  one-hundred-and -twenty- 
fifth.  This  was  without  doubt  in  recognition  of  his  skill 
as  a  seaman,  and  his  record.  He  was  a  better  man  than 
our  second  mate.  He  had  sailed  all  the  seas  over  and  over, 
could  navigate  a  vessel,  and  could  easily  have  got  a  post 
in  the  cabin  but  that  his  long  years  as  seaman  had  un- 
fitted him  for  the  command  of  men,  and  he  was  too  old 
to  begin  that  now.  But  his  ability  was  recognized  —  own- 
ers were  always  very  ready  to  recognize  ability  —  and  he 
was  greatly  trusted  by  Captain  Nelson  and  Mr.  Baker, 
the  mate.  The  second  mate  was  not  a  great  friend  of 
Peter's.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  Peter  himself  told 
me  all  this  while  we  stood  there  by  the  windlass.  He  was 
a  modest  man,  and  he  knew  better  than  to  brag  about 
himself  even  if  he  had  been  inclined  to.  I  did  not  add  up 
the  fractions  —  the  lays  —  to  see  if  they  came  out  right. 
Probably  they  did  not. 

Our  crew  consisted  of  twenty-five  seamen,  including 
the  boat-steerers,  ranging  in  ability  from  Peter  down  to 
the  green  hands,  of  whom  there  were  eight  at  starting 
on  that  voyage;  the  captain  and  five  mates;  and  the 
cooper,  the  sailmaker,  who  could  act  on  a  pinch  as  cooper 
and  as  carpenter,  the  steward,  the  cook,  and  the  boy,  who 
was  myself;    thirty-six  all  told,  enough  to  man  the  five 


THE  FIRST  WHALE  S3 

boats  and  to  leave  six  on  the  ship  to  work  her  if  neces- 
sary. The  boat-steerers  are  included  among  the  seamen, 
but  their  standing  on  the  ship  was  more  that  of  petty 
officers. 

All  this  time  the  ship  was  slowly  forging  ahead  in  the 
light  air,  and  rising  and  falling  lazily,  and  the  light  of 
the  late  afternoon  sun  was  making  the  water  to  wind- 
ward of  a  dazzling  brightness,  while  I  looked  off  to  lee- 
ward over  a  quiet  sea  to  the  hazy  horizon.  There  was  not 
wind  enough  to  keep  the  sails  full,  and  now  and  then  one 
fell  against  the  mast  and  made  a  curious  scraping  sound 
until  a  puff  of  air  drew  it  away  again. 

Peter  was  beginning  on  the  sails  of  the  ship.  Now, 
what  I  knew  about  a  square-rigged  vessel  was  even  less 
than  I  had  known  about  the  matter  of  lays,  and  I  was 
feeling  ashamed  of  my  ignorance  and  rather  hopeless. 
But  as  I  looked  off  at  the  water,  I  saw,  about  two  or 
three  miles  off,  a  little  feathery  puff  of  vapor  rise,  like  the 
drooping  white  ostrich  plume  on  Ann  McKim's  hat.  The 
feathery  shaft  of  vapor  rose  lazily,  and  the  sun  shone  on 
it  and  glorified  it  for  a  brief  moment,  and  it  drifted  off 
slowly  and  vanished.  And  I  watched  it  stupidly,  and  just 
as  I  came  to  and  grasped  Peter  Bottom's  arm,  there 
floated  down  to  us  from  aloft  a  melodious  cry. 

"  Bl-o-o-ows !  Bl-o-o-ows !  " 

It  was  most  deliberately  given,  and  was  a  quavering, 
musical  cry,  running  up  and  down  the  scale,  much  like 
a  yodel.  It  was  one  of  the  black  men  who  gave  it.  These 
black  men  always  gave  the  cry  more  melodiously  than  a 
white  man.  They  had  had  a  man  aloft  all  the  afternoon. 

That  cry  was  music  to  me,  and  all  the  men  were  inter- 
ested, especially  the  green  hands,  to  whom  it  was  as 
strange  as  it  was  to  me. 

Mr.  Baker  was  waving  his  arms  and  beckoning,  and 
the  crews  of  the  first  and  second  mate's  boats  were  run- 
ning, Peter  Bottom  among  the  best  of  them.  The  boats 


S4  SHE  BLOWS! 

were  still  lashed  at  the  davits,  but  it  took  only  a  fei 
seconds  to  loose  them  and  to  begin  to  lower,  two  or  thret 
of  the  men  in  each  boat  beginning  to  overhaul  the  har- 
poons and  lances  and  other  gear.  As  soon  as  the  boats 
struck  the  water,  the  falls  were  unhooked,  and  they 
pushed  off  from  the  side  of  the  ship  and  lay  there  while 
the  crew  seemed  to  be  busied  with  something  on  the 
thwarts,  I  could  not  see  what,  and  the  ship  was  slowly 
leaving  them  bobbing  and  drifting.  I  was  just  beginning 
to  wonder  about  it  when  I  saw  that  it  was  the  mast  and 
sail  they  were  busy  with.  The  second  mate's  boat  stepped 
her  mast  and  spread  the  sail,  but  in  Mr.  Baker's  boat 
they  abandoned  that  intention,  and  began  rowing,  while 
the  ship  kept  off  gradually  on  the  same  course  as  the 
boats. 

By  the  time  we  had  made  our  course  Mr.  Baker's  boat 
was  well  ahead  and  going  strong,  the  five  long  oars  dip- 
ping slowly  and  with  a  fair  regularity,  but  with  some 
splashing  from  the  green  hands.  It  occurs  to  me  to  say 
something  about  a  whaleboat  for  the  benefit  of  those  who 
do  not  know  the  boats,  and  they  must  be  many,  for  the 
whaleboat,  especially  the  boat  fully  equipped  for  chasing 
whales,  has  become  a  very  unfamiliar  sight. 

The  whaleboat  is  sharp  at  both  ends,  and  is  built  as 
lightly  as  is  consistent  with  great  strength.  Its  length  is 
thirty  feet;  beam,  six  feet;  depth  at  extreme  ends,  a  trifle 
over  three  feet  (thirty-seven  inches  in  the  boats  of  the 
Clearchus) ;  depth  amidships,  twenty-two  inches.  It 
rides  the  seas  like  a  cork,  and  the  sense  of  buoyancy  is 
surprising  to  any  one  who  is  not  used  to  the  boat.  It  has 
a  centreboard,  and  is  equipped  with  mast  and  sail,  which 
can  be  set  up  when  wanted.  For  the  purpose  of  stepping 
the  mast  quickly,  it  has  a  sort  of  hinge  to  the  thwart  on 
the  after  side,  and  as  it  is  raised,  the  foot  slides  down  to 
the  step  in  a  guide,  or  channel,  until  the  mast  is  erect, 
when  the  butt  drops  into  the  step.  It  is  held  in  its  place 


THE  WHALEBOAT  35 

by  stays,  permanently  fast  to  the  mast  near  its  head, 
above  the  hoist  of  the  sail,  one  on  each  side,  which  are 
then  made  fast  through  eyes  on  the  gunwales. 

When  the  boat  is  going  under  sail  it  is  steered  by  a 
rudder.  This  rudder  is  always  carried,  when  not  in  use, 
close  under  the  gunwale  at  the  stern,  outside  the  boat,  of 
course.  It  is  held  in  place  by  two  small  lines  permanently 
fast  to  it,  one  at  the  heel  of  the  rudder,  the  other  up 
nearer  its  head,  the  inboard  ends  of  the  lines  passing 
through  holes  in  the  port  gunwale  to  cleats  on  the  little 
deck  at  the  stern.  The  rudder  is  always  hung  before  the 
boat  is  lowered,  as  it  would  be  a  difficult  matter  to  hang 
it  in  a  seaway,  and  might  consume  much  precious  time. 
When  fast  to  a  whale,  the  mate  hauls  in  on  the  upper  line, 
unshipping  the  rudder,  and  makes  the  line  fast  to  the 
starboard  cleat;  then  he  hauls  in  on  the  lower  line,  rais- 
ing the  heel  of  the  rudder  to  the  gunwale,  and  makes  fast 
to  the  port  cleat.  This  operation  can  be  performed  with 
a  few  turns  of  the  hand,  but  many  mates  preferred  the 
steering  oar,  which  is  twenty-two  feet  long,  to  the  rud- 
der, when  at  close  quarters.  A  couple  of  sweeps  with  this 
great  oar  will  usually  lay  the  boat  around,  but  with  the 
rudder  it  is  not  easy.  A  whaleboat,  because  of  its  length 
and  the  comparative  flatness  of  its  keel,  and  the  slight 
purchase  of  the  rudder,  will  not  come  about  easily  under 
sail. 

When  going  upon  a  whale,  a  boat  always  goes,  if 
possible,  under  sail.  This  is  not  for  the  purpose  of  saving 
the  men  trouble,  although  you  would  think  that  a  praise- 
worthy purpose.  It  is  to  avoid  frightening  the  whale, 
which  hears  the  sound  of  oars  at  considerable  distance, 
the  sound  undoubtedly  going  through  the  water.  When 
the  sail  cannot  be  used,  oars  are  used,  or  paddles.  The 
paddles  are  used  only  when  it  is  necessary  to  go  very 
quietly,  and  there  is  no  wind.  They  are  usually  stout  and 
heavy,  about  four  feet  long;    and  when  not  in  use  are 


86  SHE  BLOWS! 

stuck  along  the  sides,  near  the  thwarts,  and  out  of  the 
way. 

Oars  are  the  normal  method  of  propulsion.  There  are 
five  long  oars,  three  to  starboard  and  two  to  port.  From 
bow  to  stern,  they  are  called  harpooner's  (generally  called 
"  harpoonier  "  on  a  whaler),  bow,  midship,  tub,  and  after 
oar.  The  harpooner's  and  the  after  oar  are  fourteen  feet 
long,  and  the  midship  oar  eighteen  feet.  Those  three  are 
the  starboard  oars.  The  port  oars,  the  bow  and  the  tub, 
are  sixteen  feet  each.  Under  the  tub  oar,  by  the  way, 
seems  to  be  the  favorite  place  for  a  whale  to  strike  a 
boat.  By  this  inequality  in  length  of  the  oars  a  pretty 
good  balance  is  reached,  whether  the  harpooner  is  row- 
ing or  not.  Each  of  these  long,  heavy  oars  is-  handled  by 
one  man,  who  sits  far  over  on  the  thwart  on  the  opposite 
end  from  the  thole-pins  or  rowlocks.  When  thole-pins  are 
used  the  oar  works  on  a  mat  laid  up  of  small  line,  placed 
between  the  pins,  to  muffle  the  sound ;  rowlocks  are  matted 
with  marline  or  other  small  stuff. 

The  steering  oar,  as  I  have  mentioned,  is  twenty-two 
feet  long.  It  passes  out  astern  over  the  gunwale  on  the 
port  side  of  the  stern-post,  through  a  bight  of  rope  cov- 
ered with  leather,  which  rests  on  a  bracket.  One  end  of 
the  rope  forming  this  bight  is  taken  inboard  through  an 
eye,  and  belayed  on  a  cleat  on  the  deck  at  the  stern. 
There  is  a  projecting  handle  on  the  upper  side  of  the 
steering  oar,  and  the  steersman  stands  up  to  his  work. 
When  the  steering  oar  is  not  in  use,  it  is  drawn  in  clear 
of  the  water,  and  on  the  boats  of  the  Clearchus,  at  any 
rate,  the  handle  was  held  in  an  eye  spliced  into  a  rope, 
which  was  worked  in  above  the  gunwale  on  the  port  side. 
This  just  fitted  the  handle,  and  held  the  oar  out  of  every- 
body's way  and  ready  for  instant  use. 

The  boat  is  decked  over  for  three  feet  at  the  bow,  and 
four  feet  at  the  stern.  The  deck  at  the  bow  is  sunk  six 
inches  below  the  gunwale,  and  is  called  the  "box."  Di- 


THE  WHALEBOAT  S7 

rectly  aft  of  the  box  is  the  cleat,  or  "  clumsy  cleat."  This 
is  a  wide,  heavy  plank,  on  a  level  with  the  gunwale,  in 
which  —  on  the  port  side,  unless  made  especially  for  a 
left-handed  man  —  a  roughly  semicircular  piece  is  cut 
out,  into  the  place  of  which  will  fit  a  man's  left  thigh,  or 
upper  leg.  The  edges  of  this  hole  are  thickly  matted  with 
yarn  or  other  soft  stuff.  Into  this  opening  the  harpooner 
fits  his  left  thigh  to  steady  him  when  he  is  about  to  dart 
the  harpoon,  or  the  mate  fits  his  when  he  is  about  to  use 
the  lance.  Various  sheaths  are  on  the  forward  edge  of  the 
cleat,  for  knives,  and  along  its  top  runs  a  loose  piece  of 
heavy  line,  its  ends  knotted  underneath  at  opposite  ends 
of  the  cleat.  This  is  the  "  kicking-strap,"  under  which 
the  whale  line  passes.  There  is  a  hatchet  in  a  frame  on  the 
side  of  the  boat  below  the  cleat,  where  the  mate  can  reach 
it  easily,  to  cut  the  line;  and  a  whaling-gun  lies  on  a 
board  under  the  cleat,  at  his  right,  fast  to  the  boat  by  a 
line  through  its  stock. 

The  deck  at  the  stern  is  used  for  the  cleats  which  I 
have  mentioned,  for  the  lines  from  the  rudder  and  the 
steering  oar,  and  under  it  is  the  cuddy  or  locker  in  which 
are  carried  the  breaker  of  water  and  the  lantern-keg  and 
the  compass  and  other  small  things  with  which  a  whale- 
boat  is  usually  equipped.  The  lantern-keg  contains  biscuit 
—  hardtack  —  candles,  flint  and  steel,  or  matches,  pipes 
and  tobacco;  all  the  necessaries  of  life.  The  main  pur- 
pose of  this  after  deck,  however,  is  to  provide  a  con- 
venient place  for  the  loggerhead. 

The  loggerhead  is  a  miniature  mooring-pile  projecting 
from  this  deck  on  the  starboard  side,  and  continued  down- 
ward through  the  cuddy  into  the  keel.  Its  top  is  six 
inches  in  diameter,  and  it  is  eight  inches  high.  The  whale 
line  passes  around  it  on  its  way  out,  and  one  or  more 
turns  can  be  taken  around  it,  so  that  the  line  can  be 
snubbed  as  much  as  is  wished,  or  can  be  held  there.  It  is 
a  frequent  occurrence  for  the  loggerhead  to  get  so  hot 


38  SHE  BLOWS! 

from  the  friction  of  the  line  that  it  smokes,  and  is  only 
prevented  from  bursting  into  flame  by  throwing  water 
upon  the  line  by  the  bucketful  or  the  hatful. 

Whale  line  is  a  beautiful  silky  rope,  usually  seven 
eighths  of  an  inch  in  diameter,  although  I  have  seen 
whale  line  that  I  thought  was  larger  than  this,  perhaps 
one-inch  rope.  Old  line,  however,  may  change  its  diam- 
eter, becoming  either  larger  or  smaller  than  when  new. 
It  is  of  long  fibre  manila,  flexible  and  soft,  the  best  rope 
that  can  be  made.  In  1 872  it  may  have  been  of  hemp  —  I 
do  not  remember  distinctly.  It  is  made  in  a  rope-walk, 
not  on  machines,  and  its  length  is  therefore  limited  to  the 
length  of  the  walk  in  which  it  is  made.  The  line  has  a 
longer  lay  than  machine-made  rope,  is  not  so  tightly  laid 
up,  which  may  make  it  less  attractive  in  appearance  to  one 
who  does  not  know  its  qualities,  but  not  to  a  whaleman. 
I  have  a  passion  for  whale  line.  There  is  an  old  piece 
somewhere  among  my  dunnage  now  —  about  three  fath- 
oms of  it.  I  have  had  it  for  years.  I  have  no  use  for  it, 
but  I  like  to  handle  it  —  almost  fondle  it. 

The  whale  line,  without  knots  or  splices,  is  kept  in 
tubs,  usually  one  for  a  length,  sometimes  two,  near  the 
stern.  The  tub  oar  gets  its  name  from  this.  It  is  most  care- 
fully coiled,  so  that  it  shall  run  out  freely,  without  kinks. 
A  second  length  of  line,  coiled  in  its  tubs,  is  carried  by 
each  whaleboat,  and  can  be  bent  on  to  the  first  in  case  of 
need. 

From  the  tubs,  then,  the  line  passes  around  the  logger- 
head, where  the  boatsteerer  handles  it,  and  snubs  it  as 
much  as  he  wishes.  It  may  be  running  out  so  fast  as  to 
burn  his  hands;  and  a  swiftly  running  line  not  only 
burns  the  hands,  but  can  take  the  very  flesh  off  the  bones, 
as  I  know  to  my  sorrow.  To  guard  against  this,  hand- 
cloths  or  "  nippers  "  are  provided,  much  like  those  worn 
by  bricklayers,  and  often  forgotten.  The  "  nipper  "  is  a 
patch  of  canvas,  eight  inches  square,  to  be  held  in  the 


WHALE  LINE  AND  HARPOONS       39 

hand  without  fastening,  as  it  might  take  a  man  overboard 
if  fast  to  him.  From  the  loggerhead  the  line  passes  for- 
ward along  the  length  of  the  boat,  in  its  middle  line,  lying, 
when  slack,  on  the  looms  of  the  oars.  As  each  man  sits 
well  over  to  one  side  of  his  thwart,  the  middle  line  of  the 
boat  is  left  clear  for  it.  It  then  passes  under  the  kicking 
strap,  and  through  a  groove  —  the  "  chocks  "  —  in  the 
head  of  the  stem,  in  which  it  is  held  by  a  small  wooden 
peg  or  pin.  This  pin  is  purposely  small  and  frail  so  that 
if  there  is  any  obstruction,  such  as  a  kink  in  the  line,  the 
pin  will  break  instead  of  carrying  the  boat  under.  In  the 
bottom  of  the  chocks  there  is  a  small  metal  roller  which 
does  not  always  work. 

The  whale  line,  after  passing  out  of  the  boat  through 
the  chocks,  is  taken  in  again,  and  a  considerable  length 
of  it  coiled  up  on  the  box  —  the  little  sunken  deck  at  the 
bow.  This  is  called  the  "  box  line."  The  first  harpoon  is 
attached  to  the  free  end  of  the  box  line,  the  second  iron 
to  an  extra  piece  of  line,  the  "  short  warp,"  fast  to  the 
box  line  a  little  way  from  its  free  end.  These  two  har- 
poons rest  with  their  points  projecting  over  the  bow  and 
their  sapling  hardwood  handles  in  the  crotch.  The  crotch 
is  a  sort  of  double  Y-shaped  contraption,  which  is  set  into 
a  socket  in  the  starboard  gunwale,  and  projects  about  six- 
teen inches  above  it. 

The  boatsteerer  or  harpooner  rows  the  oar  nearest 
the  bow.  When  near  enough  to  the  whale,  at  the  com- 
mand, "  Stand  up,  Jack,"  or  "  Stand  up,  you  !  "  from 
the  mate  or  boatheader,  he  takes  in  and  secures  his  oar, 
turns  around,  stands  up,  takes  the  first  harpoon,  which  is 
immediately  ready  to  his  hand  in  the  crotch,  fits  his  leg 
firmly  in  the  opening  in  the  cleat,  and  makes  ready  to 
dart.  At  the  further  command  from  the  boatheader, 
"  Give  it  to  him ! "  he  darts  the  harpoon  with  all  the  force 
left  in  him  after  rowing  for  miles,  perhaps  with  all  his 
strength.  The  harpoon  is  heavy,  and  both  hands  are  used 


40  SHE  BLOWS! 

in  throwing  it,  the  right  hand  around  the  upper  part  of 
the  wooden  handle  or  haft,  and  giving  it  its  forward  im- 
petus, and  the  left  hand  supporting  the  haft  toward  its 
lower  end.  Then,  as  quickly  as  he  can,  he  grabs  the  sec- 
ond harpoon  from  its  rest  yi  the  crotch,  and  darts  that. 
This  is  in  the  hope  of  getting  two  irons  fast,  but  the  sec- 
ond harpoon  must  be  thrown  out  of  the  boat  in  any  case. 

Lances  and  spare  harpoons  are  stowed  between  the 
thwarts  and  the  gunwale,  the  iron  shanks  held  in  a  little 
brass  frame  —  at  least,  on  the  boats  of  the  Clearchus  — 
with  a  sliding  wire  to  lock  them  in,  and  the  wooden  hafts 
held  in  mafline.  Lances  are  to  starboard,  and  harpoons 
to  port;  and  on  each,  whether  lance  or  harpoon,  is  a 
wooden  sheath  covering  the  sharp  edge.  It  is  one  of  the 
duties  of  the  bow  oar  to  remove  the  sheath,  and  to  get 
out  the  lance.  He  has  certain  other  duties  which  are  im- 
portant, and  which  make  the  bow  oar  next  in  line  of  pro- 
motion to  the  harpooner  or  boatsteerer. 

When  fast  to  the  whale,  the  boatsteerer  makes  his  way 
aft,  and  takes  the  steering  oar,  changing  places  with  the 
boatheader,  who  is  usually  one  of  the  mates,  while  the 
mate  takes  his  position  in  the  bow,  a  lance  in  his  hand, 
ready  to  lance  the  whale  and  finish  the  business. 

A  harpoon  or  a  lance  is  a  poor  bedfellow  in  a  seaway, 
for  they  are  kept  very  sharp.  In  fact,  they  are  often  a 
source  of  danger  even  when  out  of  the  boat.  The  second 
harpoon  has  to  be  thrown  out  of  the  boat  in  any  case, 
whether  there  is  a  chance  of  getting  it  into  the  whale  or 
not,  for  it  is  fast  to  the  whale  line,  and  if  it  were  not 
thrown  out  there  would  be  trouble.  This  second  iron,  when 
not  in  the  whale,  where  it  belongs,  goes  jumping  and  skit- 
tering over  the  waves  after  the  fleeing  whale,  ahead  of  the 
boat  or  even  abreast  of  it  when  the  boat  is  hauled  up 
close,  or  afoul  of  it. 

The  placing  of  the  loggerhead  at  the  stern  accom- 
plishes three  things:  it  gives  the  boat-steerer  easy  control 


A  LOSING  CHASE  41 

of  the  line,  which  the  mate,  in  the  bow,  would  have  no 
time  to  attend  to  when  they  were  at  close  quarters;  inci- 
dentally it  avoids  the  possibility  of  pulling  the  boat  to 
pieces  by  a  towing  whale  in  which  the  harpoon  is  fast; 
but  the  controlling  reason  for  it  is  that  the  men  can 
heave  on  the  line  without  leaving  their  places,  which  they 
must  be  able  to  do  to  get  the  boat  up  to  the  whale,  so  that 
the  mate  can  lance. 

But  to  come  back  to  the  boats,  which  had  been  making 
progress  according  to  the  natures  of  the  men  in  charge 
of  them.  They  were  no  nearer  than  they  had  been  at  first, 
and  we  drifted  on,  Mr.  Wallet's  boat  just  abeam  of  us. 
The  farther  we  went,  the  farther  we  were  behind  the 
whales,  which  were  wandering  directly  away  from  us.  The 
sun  was  near  setting,  and  after  an  hour  of  a  losing  chase, 
signals  were  made  for  the  boats  to  come  aboard  again. 

I  cast  another  look  about  the  horizon,  and  ran  aft. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  of  whales  —  from  the  deck, 
at  any  rate  —  only  a  beautiful  pearl-gray  softness  on  the 
water.  My  dreams  that  night  were  a  queer  mixture  of 
whales  and  home,  and  of  my  father  working  on  a  staging 
beside  a  whale  in  a  dock,  and  removing  several  of  hit 
ribs. 


CHAPTER  V 

We  reached  the  Gulf  Stream  some  time  during  that  night. 
I  remember  that  I  was  awakened  before  dawn  by  the 
heeling  of  the  ship  so  that  I  was  all  but  pitched  out  of 
my  bunk.  I  sat  up  and  held  on,  and  heard  the  rain,  and 
the  sound  of  feet  on  deck,  and  orders  shouted,  and  the 
hoarse  singsong  of  the  crew  as  they  manned  the  sheets 
and  the  halliards  and  the  braces,  and  the  noise  of  the 
yards  swinging,  and  the  sails  slatting.  There  was  no  sing- 
song from  the  men  aloft  taking  in  sail.  The  ship  was 
pitching  and  rolling  badly.  The  old  Clearchus  was  good 
at  that.  Then  Captain  Nelson  went  on  deck,  and  I 
dressed  hastily,  and  went  out  too  into  the  pitchy  black- 
ness of  a  stormy  night  at  sea. 

The  two  men  at  the  wheel  were  having  a  hard  time  of 
it.  I  took  my  stand  by  the  weather  corner  of  the  after 
house,  hugging  it  close,  to  keep  out  of  the  rain,  and  looked 
out  at  the  wet  deck,  which  gleamed  faintly  now  and  then, 
and  at  the  shadowy  forms  of  the  men  who  happened  to 
pass  near  me,  and  at  the  white  tops  of  the  seas  rolling 
past.  The  foam  seemed  to  shine  with  a  light  of  its  own. 
Then  the  ship  gave  a  more  violent  plunge  than  ever,  and 
I  could  tell  by  the  sound  that  she  had  shipped  a  sea  over 
the  bows,  although  I  could  see  nothing;  but  as  she  rose  I 
heard  it  come  rushing  aft,  and  the  next  moment  the 
water  was  swirling  in  the  near  scupper,  and  slopped  up 
against  the  leeward  wall  of  the  house.  I  stood  there  for 
some  time,  until  long  after  they  had  sail  reduced  to  reefed 
topsails,  and  my  feelings  were  a  curious  mixture  of  exul- 
tation in  the  wildness  of  the  night  and  —  I  may  as  well 
confess  it  now,  although  nothing  could  have  drawn  such 
a  confession  from  me  then  —  a  sneaking  fear  that  the  ship 


A  WILD  NIGHT  43 

would  not  stand  such  buffeting.  I  thought  of  home,  and 
knew  very  well  that  my  mother  was  lying  awake  and  lis- 
tening to  the  wind  and  the  rain,  and  thinking  of  me.  And  I 
knew  that  I  was  in  my  father's  thoughts  too,  although 
those  thoughts  could  not  keep  him  awake.  He  knew  that 
I  was  taking  but  the  ordinary  risks  that  every  rightly 
constituted  boy  has  to  take,  and  goes  to  meet  gladly.  In- 
deed the  risk  was  not  great.  It  did  not  seem  possible  that 
I  had  left  home  less  than  two  days  before,  and  that  it  was 
such  a  few  miles  behind  me.  My  thoughts  being  in  that  di- 
rection, I  decided  to  keep  a  journal  of  some  sort,  and 
send  it  home  when  a  chance  offered.  The  chance  may  be  a 
brief  one,  merely  a  passing  ship,  when  there  is  no  time 
to  write  letters. 

I  suppose  I  must  have  made  up  my  mind  that  if  I  was 
to  be  drowned  I  should  be  drowned,  and  I  might  as  well 
be  comfortable  about  it,  for  as  it  was  beginning  to  be 
gray  in  the  east,  with  the  melancholy  waste  of  wild  waters 
just  visible,  and  that  sinking  of  the  soul  which  always 
comes  at  such  a  time,  I  went  below  and  turned  in  again 
and  went  to  sleep  immediately. 

The  next  day  there  was  a  stiff  breeze  from  the  south- 
west, which  continued  for  several  days.  If  the  Clearchus 
had  been  at  all  fast,  or  even  an  average  sailer,  she  would 
have  made  the  Hatteras  grounds  in  a  couple  of  days ;  but 
that  was  a  big  "  if,"  as  my  father  would  have  said  with  his 
quiet  smile.  Captain  Nelson,  knowing  her  well,  made  no 
attempt  to  crowd  her,  but  went  on  under  easy  sail,  so  that 
we  were  a  long  time  in  getting  to  Hatteras.  We  got  there 
toward  the  latter  part  of  an  afternoon.  Cape  Hatteras,  of 
course,  was  not  in  sight,  nor  even  the  lightship  on  Dia- 
mond Shoals ;  but  there  was  one  vessel  in  sight.  I  tried  to 
make  myself  believe  that  I  knew  it  for  the  Desdemona  or 
the  Palmetto,  but  Captain  Nelson  said  that  neither  of 
those  ships  was  there.  However,  he  announced  his  inten- 
tion of  going  aboard  of  her,  and  said  he  would  take  me  if 
I  wanted  to  go. 


44  SHE  BLOWS! 

I  was  delighted,  and  regarded  it  as  a  mark  of  special 
favor.  It  was.  Captain  Nelson  was  continually  showing 
me  those  marks  of  favor,  although  if  I  had  not  behaved 
myself  he  would  have  stopped  very  soon.  But  I  cannot 
remember  that  it  ever  oocurred  to  me  to  do  otherwise, 
and  if  I  failed  in  any  respect  it  was  not  by  intention. 
Captain  Nelson  was  very  easy  on  those  of  good  inten- 
tions, if  they  were  not  fools,  and  inclined  to  be  indulgent 
toward  harmless  mischief,  but  very  hard  on  malice  or 
slacking,  and  showed  them  no  mercy.  Like  many  another 
man  of  action  and  results  he  had  little  patience  with  a 
fool.  I  think  he  blamed  himself  for  this,  and  regarded  it 
as  a  weakness,  although  he  never  said  anything  to  me 
about  it.  I  sympathize  with  him.  All  my  life  I  have  never 
been  able  to  abide  a  fool,  and  there  are  many  kinds;  and 
I  have  been  aware  that  it  is  a  fault  of  character,  and  that 
I  should  have  patience  with  them,  for  they  cannot  help 
their  condition.  But  I  have  never  been  without  faults, 
thank  God,  although  I  suppose  that  I  was  a  good  boy,  on 
the  whole.  And  I  suppose  that  I  should  be  ashamed  of 
that,  too,  but  I  am  not,  and  I  never  was.  I  do  not  believe 
that  I  ever  thought  about  it. 

Captain  Nelson  was  going  over  for  a  "gam."  Now  a 
gam  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  gossip:  each  gives 
the  other  what  news  he  has,  the  gossip  of  home  from  the 
outbound  captain,  and  from  the  inbound  the  gossip  of 
whales  and  their  ways,  and  news  of  whalers  and  captains 
that  he  has  met,  the  number  of  barrels  of  oil  that  the 
George  and  Susan  has  taken,  the  accident  to  the  Addison, 
the  men  that  the  Gosnold  lost  by  a  fighting  whale  on  the 
Carroll  grounds,  and  any  other  items  of  interest  that  he 
can  remember.  The  two  captains,  before  they  get  through, 
may  be  telling  anecdotes  of  other  whalemen  or  of  whales, 
or  they  may  be  talking  of  home  or  of  Nantucket  and  Old 
Ma'am  Hackett's  garden.  They  may  have  something  hot 
and  glasses  between  them,  and  the  gam  may  last  an  hour 


...     THE  GAM  45 

or  three  hours  or  all  day.  It  all  depends  upon  the  men. 
Two  captains  have  been  known  to  spend  all  day  gam- 
ming, and  to  turn  up  again  in  the  morning  for  more  of  it, 
but  such  an  abuse  of  the  practice  is  very  rare.  The  gam 
has  its  useful  purpose  as  well  as  its  pleasant  one  —  al- 
though any  pleasant  purpose  is  useful.  The  outbound  cap- 
tain gets  the  most  out  of  it,  the  news  of  ships  and  of  men, 
but  most  of  all,  the  news  of  whales,  and  how  they  are 
running  that  season,  and  where  they  are  to  be  met  in 
plenty;  much  more  recent  news  than  he  had  when  he 
sailed.  But  any  really  vital  news  likely  to  be  of  benefit 
to  himself  —  a  new  whaling  ground  discovered,  for  in- 
stance, hitherto  unknown,  in  which  whales  are  plentiful 
—  he  carefully  keeps  to  himself.  The  crew  are  not  so 
careful,  although  many  of  them  are  close-mouthed. 

The  vessel  had  been  cutting  in,  as  Captain  Nelson 
could  tell  without  his  glass,  and  as  Peter  Bottom  and 
every  other  old  hand  could  tell.  I  could  not  see  what  they 
were  doing,  and  I  have  no  reason  to  think  that  any  of  the 
green  hands  could.  She  was  more  than  three  miles  away, 
and  there  was  a  light  bluish  haze  which  made  it  difficult 
to  see  clearly,  but  I  got  a  pair  of  battered  field  glasses 
from  the  rack,  and  managed  to  make  out  dimly  the  out- 
line of  some  sort  of  a  flimsy  structure  on  her  side,  the 
crew  all  crowded  up  by  the  windlass,  and  something 
bulky  being  hoisted  in  over  the  gangway.  Captain  Nelson 
had  given  me  the  use  of  those  old  field  glasses,  as  no- 
body else  wanted  them.  I  would  have  carried  them  about 
with  me,  for  I  felt  very  proud  and  important  at  having 
glasses  of  my  own ;  but  it  would  have  taken  a  dray  or  an 
ice  wagon  at  least  to  carry  them. 

A  boat  was  lowered,  Peter  Bottom  being  in  the  crew  of 
the  boat,  and  set  off  with  the  captain  standing  just  in 
front  of  the  steersman,  his  head  in  constant  danger  from 
the  handle  of  the  long  steering  oar,  and  his  stomach  from 
the  shaft  of  the  stern  oar  as  it  swung.  He  had  to  stand,  for 


46  SHE  BLOWS! 

there  was  no  seat  for  him.  Whaleboats  are  not  designed 
for  carrying  passengers.  But  he  kept  his  feet  and  his  dig- 
nity at  the  same  time,  and  I  felt  a  great  admiration  for 
the  way  in  which  he  didjboth.  I  was  perched  up  in  the 
bow,  in  the  harpooner's  place,  and  found  the  thigh-hole  in 
the  clumsy  cleat  a  great  convenience  in  keeping  my  own 
balance  and  dignity.  Then  I  gazed  ahead  over  the  little 
sunken  deck  —  the  "  box  "  —  with  its  length  of  whale 
line  ready  coiled  upon  it,  and  imagined  myself  striking  a 
whale;  and  I  raised  my  arms  in  the  attitude  of  a  har- 
pooner  darting  the  harpoon,  and  I  hurled  the  imaginary 
weapon  with  tremendous  force  —  all  imaginary,  of  course 
■ —  and  it  sunk  to  the  haft  in  the  great  body ;  and  I  heard 
a  snicker,  and  looked  around,  and  there  was  one  of  the 
mates  —  I  think  it  must  have  been  Mr.  Wallet,  although 
it  was  not  his  boat  —  grinning  at  me  from  his  place  at  the 
steering  oar,  and  Captain  Nelson  was  smiling.  I  had  al- 
ready developed  a  cordial  detestation  of  Mr.  Wallet.  I 
remember  to  this  day  how  red  and  uncomfortable  I  got, 
even  to  the  back  of  my  neck.  But  I  turned  about  at  once, 
and  stood  as  stiff  as  a  ramrod  with  the  help  of  the  thigh- 
hole,  and  I  looked  ahead  and  I  saw  a  great  volume  of 
black  smoke  rising  from  the  try-works.  Astern  of  her 
there  was  something  in  the  water,  with  an  immense  flock 
of  screaming  gulls  continually  rising  and  settling  again 
like  a  fountain.  It  looked  much  like  the  sight  I  have  often 
seen  up  to  a  few  years  ago,  off  T  wharf  in  Boston,  the 
fishermen  packed  three  deep  about  the  wharf  and  all  the 
men  busy  either  unloading  and  weighing  their  fares  of 
fish,  or  baiting  trawls,  and  patches  of  scraps  and  gurry  on 
the  water,  and  crowds  of  great  gray  or  black-and-white 
herring  gulls  screaming  and  dipping  and  elbowing  for 
their  share  of  the  vile  stuff. 

We  were  getting  near  enough  for  me  to  see  things 
clearly.  The  vessel's  starboard  side  was  toward  us,  and 
there  hung  the  cutting-stage  by  the  gangway.  Strangely 


THE  CUTTING-STAGE  47 

enough,  perhaps,  I  had  never  before  seen  a  cutting-stage. 
When  a  ship  is  in  port  they  are  not  in  evidence,  and  we 
had  had  no  occasion  yet  to  rig  ours.  It  is  a  simple  affair 
of  three  planks,  the  two  shorter  ones  butted  against  the 
side  of  the  ship  and  resting  on  the  wales.  The  two  short 
planks  keep  the  outer  plank,  which  is  longer,  at  the 
proper  distance  from  the  side.  The  planks  are  bolted  to- 
gether at  the  outer  corners,  and  are  held  up  by  ropes 
running  from  the  outer  corners  to  the  main  rigging  at  one 
end,  and  at  the  other  to  a  post  rising  above  the  rail  of 
the  ship.  Most  of  the  work  is  done  from  the  long  -outer 
plank,  which  has  bolted  on  its  inner  edge  posts  of  iron 
supporting  a  light  railing.  It  is  somewhat  of  a  mystery 
why  the  men  do  not  fall  off  of  those  few  inches  of  slip- 
pery, rocking  plank,  with  nothing  at  their  backs  but  the 
wide  ocean.  They  are  supposed  to  have  monkey-ropes 
about  their  waists  —  usually  forgotten  —  or  a  line  at 
their  backs  along  the  cutting-stage,  and  they  have 
long,  heavy  spades  in  their  hands,  which  seem  to  anchor 
them.  Sometimes  they  do  fall  off  among  the  sharks,  but 
they  rarely  come  to  any  harm.  But  at  the  time  it  looked 
to  me  like  a  very  insecure  footing,  and  I  was  sure  any 
house-painter  would  have  rejected  it  with  scorn. 

The  ship  turned  out  to  be  the  Palm,  of  New  Bedford, 
and  the  captain  was  an  old  friend  of  Captain  Nelson's. 
The  two  stood  apart,  aft,  for  some  time,  watching  the 
busy  men  about  the  try-pots.  The  men  were  stripped  to 
the  waist,  most  of  them,  and  laughing  and  talking  among 
themselves  like  children.  Some  were  passing  pieces  of 
blubber  from  the  hatch  to  the  mincers;  some  were  minc- 
ing the  blubber  on  those  pieces  with  heavy  knives  much 
like  a  butcher's  cleaver  with  a  handle  at  each  end ;  some 
were  carrying  the  minced  pieces  to  the  try-pots;  and 
some  were  stirring  the  mess  in  the  pots  or  feeding  the 
fire,  with  long,  two-pronged  iron  forks  in  their  hands. 
The  black  smoke  billowed  up  over  their  heads,  and  cop~ 

\ 


48  SHE  BLOWS! 

per  gleamed  red  in  the  rays  of  the  low  western  sun,  and 
the  half-naked  bodies  wet  with  sweat  gleamed  red,  and 
there  was  a  reddish  tinge*  to  the  black  smoke.  It  looked 
like  an  orgy  of  devils  about  the  pots,  and  when  the  men 
came  out  from  behind  the  try-works  I  almost  expected  to 
see  their  forked  tails  hanging  down,  and  cloven  feet. 

The  two  captains  went  into  the  cabin,  and  there  was 
nothing  for  the  rest  of  us  to  do,  for  the  crew  of  the  Palm 
were  too  thoroughly  occupied  to  give  us  much  of  a  wel- 
come. Everything  was  covered  with  oil  and  with  huge 
pieces  of  what  looked  like  butcher's  meat,  besides  the 
blubber.  Whale-meat  is  red,  much  the  color  of  beef,  only 
darker,  although  it  does  not  look  like  beef.  We  have  re- 
cently been  asked  to  eat  it,  as  if  that  were  a  new  idea. 
And  the  newspapers  have  had  their  short  articles,  or 
perhaps  a  column,  carefully  timed,  telling  us  how  good 
it  is,  and  that  it  is  getting  to  be  quite  the  fashion  at  New 
York  hotels,  and  that  some  firm  in  Oregon  has  been  asked 
to  put  up  a  million  or  two  cans  of  it.  I  even  saw  some 
displayed  in  the  window  of  a  fish  market  for  two  or  three 
weeks;  the  same  pieces,  I  judged,  from  their  continually 
ripening  color.  It  did  not  seem  to  be  in  any  great  demand. 
Whalemen  have  eaten  whale-meat  for  a  century  or  more. 
It  is  the  meat  of  the  right  whale  that  is  eaten.  Sperm 
whale  meat  is  full  of  oil  and  not  edible.  Once  is  usually 
enough  for  a  man,  a  steak  cut  from  the  small.  Even  right 
whale  meat  does  not  seem  to  be  a  favorite  article  of  diet, 
although  porpoise  steaks  are  good,  and  porpoises  are 
whales. 

At  the  time  I  knew  nothing  of  the  palatability  of  whale- 
meat,  and  I  was  interested  only  in  the  trying-out  process. 
I  stepped  carelessly  nearer,  and  my  foot  slipped  on  the 
oily  deck,  and  I  should  have  gone  down  if  it  had  not  been 
for  a  strong  arm  that  caught  me  about  the  body;  and  I 
found  myself  gazing  into  the  smiling  face  of  Peter  Bot- 
tom, and  at  an  enormous  raw  and  bloody  jaw  that  was 


SCRIMSHAWING  49 

just  behind  him  in  the  scuppers.  It  was  more  than  fif- 
teen feet  long  —  the  jaw,  not  Peter's  face  —  and  it  was 
armed  with  backward  curved  teeth,  not  close  together, 
but  spaced  rather  widely;  several  inches  between  the 
teeth.  They  did  not  look  so  very  formidable;  not  nearly 
so  wicked  as  a  shark's,  and  the  whale's  upper  jaw  has  no 
teeth.  But  whale's  teeth  were  no  new  thing  to  me,  al- 
though I  had  never  seen  a  jaw  freshly  cut  off,  with  the 
ragged  and  bloody  flesh  on  it. 

"  What  are  they  going  to  do  with  it,  Peter  ?  "  I  asked, 
too  much  interested  in  the  jaw  to  thank  him  for  catch- 
ing me.  "  Will  they  try  it  out?  Is  there  oil  in  it?  " 

"  Oil  in  what  ?  "  said  Peter,  looking  about.  "  There 's 
oil  in  near  everything  around  here.  There  'd  have  been 
oil  in  your  clothes  and  in  your  hair  if  I  had  n't  been  here 
to  catch  you.  Oh,  it 's  the  jaw  you  mean.  There  's  no  oil 
to  speak  of  in  it,  but  there  's  teeth.  When  they  get  eased 
up  on  the  oil,  they  '11  pull  the  teeth  with  the  help  of  spades 
and  a  tackle.  There  's  fine  dentists  among  the  crew,  I  'm 
thinking.  And  maybe  they  '11  cut  up  the  j  awbone,  for  it 's 
hard  and  fine,  and  good  for  scrimshawing;  anything 
that 's  too  big  for  a  tooth  to  answer  for.  I  '11  show  you, 
Timmie,  when  we  get  some  whales  of  our  own." 

"  What  will  you  carve,  Peter  ?  " 

"What  will  we  carve?  Anything  you  want,  lad,  from 
an  ivory  spoon  or  a  jagging- wheel,  for  your  mother  to 
mark  pies  with,  to  a  model  of  the  Clearchus,  exact  in  every 
line  and  rope,  and  all  made  of  ivory  and  silk.  I  brought 
me  some  silk  thread  for  just  that.  Or  we  might  make  a 
swift,  to  wind  off  the  hanks  of  wool.  One  of  the  boat- 
steerers,  last  voyage,  made  one.  It  was  a  strange  thing, 
full  of  joints,  and  could  be  pulled  out  large  or  pushed  in 
small  to  fit,  like  a  lazy  tongs.  It  seemed  to  work  fine,  but 
there  was  no  real  beauty  in  it,  just  flat  links  and  all;  a 
very  good  machine,  but  no  piece  of  work  for  an  artist  to 
turn  out.  Still,  it  don't  need  to  be  so  plain.  We  could  carve 


50  SHE  BLOWS! 

the  links  and  the  shaft  and  the  pedestal  with  a  mermaid  of 
two  and  some  dolphins  and  old  Nepchune  and  his  car, 
and  tip  off  the  links  with  a  mermaid's  head  at  the  top  and 
her  tail  at  the  bottom.  Oh,  yes,  Timmie,  it  comes  to  me 
now  that  a  real  artist  might  do  something  even  with  the 
reel.  We  '11  make  one  if  you  like.  Or  we  might  make  you 
a  cane  to  use  when  you  get  back  from  this  voyage  a  fine, 
big  man,  and  go  walking  about  the  streets  to  turn  the 
heads  of  the  girls.  Oh,  there  's  many  a  thing  we  can  make, 
and  —  hello  !  Ahoy,  there  !  " 

As  Peter  spoke  I  turned  quickly  toward  the  try-pots, 
for  it  was  there  he  was  looking.  The  oil  in  one  of  the  pots 
was  being  dipped  out  into  the  copper  cooling-tank,  and 
the  other  pot  was  almost  ready.  Something  had  hap- 
pened to  one  of  the  men  as  he  swung  his  dipper.  The 
dipper  is  practically  a  pail  of  copper  held  in  an  iron  ring 
at  the  end  of  an  iron  shaft  about  three  feet  long;  and  on 
the  end  of  this  shaft  is  a  long  sapling  handle.  I  did  not 
know,  at  the  time,  what  had  happened,  but  I  found,  after- 
wards, that  the  man  had  hit  his  elbow  and  the  contents  of 
his  dipper  had  been  emptied  into  the  second  pot.  What  I 
saw  was  a  thin  wreath  of  smoke  rising  from  the  pot,  with 
a  tremendous  bubbling  and  commotion  in  it,  and  instantly 
the  oil  burst  into  flame,  which  licked  the  near-by  wood- 
work and  rigging,  and  sent  out  a  great  volume  of  black 
smoke. 

The  orgy  of  devils  about  the  pots  became  more  of  an 
orgy  than  ever,  although  the  devils  no  longer  laughed.  In 
the  weird  light  and  the  black  smoke  which,  at  times, 
rolled  down  and  hid  the  whole  thing  from  me,  the  devils 
ran  to  and  fro,  and  there  was  a  confusion  of  shoutings  for 
perhaps  a  minute.  Then  I  heard  the  mate's  voice  bellow- 
ing orders,  and  the  other  shouting  grew  less,  but  in  place 
of  it  I  heard  the  grunting  of  men  struggling  with  some- 
thing heavy,  or  using  every  muscle  in  pulling.  The  whole 


A  NARROW  ESCAPE  FROM  FIRE     51 

thing  seemed  unreal  to  me,  like  a  sketch  of  Dore's  for  a 
scene  in  Hell  —  although  at  that  time  I  had  never  heard 
of  Dore"  —  and  I  remember  that  I  leaned  back  against 
the  bulwarks  and  laughed  to  myself.  Peter  had  left  me, 
and  I  had  moved  clear  of  the  jaw  of  the  whale,  but  it 
never  occurred  to  me  to  do  anything  to  help.  No  doubt  I 
should  only  have  been  cursed  by  the  mate  and  by  every- 
body else,  for  I  should  not  have  had  the  least  idea  what 
to  do,  and  I  did  not  even  know  the  names  of  things.  But 
it  is  nothing  to  my  credit  that  I  did  not  offer  my  blunder- 
ing help,  for  I  simply  did  not  think  of  it. 

At  last  the  flame  died  away  and  there  was  but  little 
smoke  and  that  of  a  sickly  grayish  tinge,  as  if  it  were 
the  ghost  of  what  it  had  hoped  to  be.  I  saw  the  two  cap- 
tains standing  together,  aft,  watching  silently,  and  Peter 
joined  me  again,  very  black  and  dirty. 

"  A  narrow  squeak,  Timmie,"  he  said.  "  I  thought  the 
ship  would  catch  afire  in  spite  of  us," 

"  What  was  the  matter,  Peter  ?  "  I  asked.  "  What  did 
it  ?  " 

He  turned  to  me  with  his  humorous  smile.  Peter  Bot- 
tom always  had  an  air  of  detachment  in  his  way  of  look- 
ing at  things  which  sometimes  concerned  him  very  nearly. 

"  Does  your  mother  never  fry  doughnuts,"  he  said,  "  in 
deep  fat  ?  " 

I  nodded  —  and  I  had  a  sudden  ltimp  in  my  throat. 
My  mother  did  that,  and  often;  and  her  doughnuts  were 
—  but  it  was  not  of  doughnuts  I  was  thinking. 

"  Well,"  Peter  went  on,  "  your  mother  would  not  have 
asked  me  that  question.  Does  the  fat  never  catch  afire  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head.  "  It  never  does  when  mother  fries 
them.  I  tried  it  once,  and  it  did.  Was  that  the  reason  ?  " 

"  Just  that,"  he  said.  And  then  our  boat  was  ordered 
away,  and  Peter  ran. 

The  red  sun  was  resting  on  the  rim  of  the  sea  as  we 


52  SHE  BLOWS! 

started  back.  From  my  place  in  the  bow  I  watched  it,  and 
I  lost  myself.  Our  course  was  directly  in  the  golden  track 
that  led  to  the  sun,  and*  whales  and  the  black  smoke  of 
blubber  and  oily  decks  had  no  place  in  my  thoughts  as  I 
saw  the  sun  sink  into  the  sea. 


CHAPTER  VI 

We  stood  away  that  night,  going  tinder  very  easy  sail. 
We  were  in  no  hurry,  and  did  not  want  to  get  far  away, 
but  Captain  Nelson  had  a  prejudice  against  whaling  in 
too  much  company.  I  was  out  at  daybreak,  eager  and  ex- 
cited, and  stayed  out  all  day  when  my  duties  did  not  call 
me  below.  Much  of  the  time  I  spent  in  the  maintop,  which 
I  attained  for  the  first  time,  my  heart  in  my  mouth  as  I 
crawled  slowly  and  carefully  up  and  out  on  the  futtock 
shrouds.  Nothing  would  have  induced  me  to  go  through 
the  lubber-hole.  I  had  with  me  my  battered  old  glass  —  a 
load  of  junk,  but  it  was  better  than  nothing  —  and  I 
squatted  there  and  watched  for  those  drifting  white 
plumes  until  my  eyes  ached  and  watered.  Peter  laughed 
at  me  once  when  I  came  down,  but  I  went  up  again. 

We  sighted  no  whales  that  first  day,  although  we  ex- 
pected to  see  them,  and  kept  a  sharp  lookout;  but  the 
next  day,  having  laid  a  course  almost  due  south,  and  being 
then  in  about  the  latitude  of  Frying  Pan  Shoals,  we  raised 
some.  I  was  in  the  maintop  again,  looking  through  my 
glass  at  the  wrong  place,  of  course.  I  should  have  done 
better  without  the  glass.  At  the  mastheads  we  had  two 
Kanakas,  one  called  the  Admiral,  I  never  could  learn 
why.  He  had  the  most  wonderful  way  of  crying 
"  Bl-o-ows  !  "  that  I  ever  heard.  The  cry  began  on  a  very 
high  and  piercing  falsetto,  sank  a  little  in  pitch,  quavered 
and  trilled  for  a  long  time,  then  went  up  again  like  a 
bugle,  and  ended  as  clear  as  a  bell.  I  wonder  that  it  did 
not  scare  all  the  whales  within  four  miles,  but  the  whales 
seemed  to  like  it. 

As  I  sat  with  my  eyes  glued  to  the  glass  I  heard  the 
Admiral's    cry    begin.    It  startled  me,  for  I  had  never 


54  SHE  BLOWS  1 

heard  it  before,  and  I  almost  dropped  the  glass.  I  got  it 
through  my  head  what  it  was  long  before  the  Admiral 
had  finished.  * 

"  Oh,  where  ?  "  I  cried.  "  Where  are  they  ?  " 

The  Admiral  paid  no  attention  to  me,  of  course,  and 
the  other  Kanaka  in  his  hoops  took  up  the  cry  in  the  usual 
melodious  fashion.  Then  I  saw  the  white  plumes  for 
which  I  had  been  looking  for  a  day  and  a  half.  They  were 
directly  to  leeward,  and  about  three  miles  off.  I  found 
them  with  the  glass,  and  I  remember  that  I  was  per- 
fectly entranced  with  watching  them.  I  could  not  see 
the  bodies  of  the  whales  at  that  distance,  and  not  much 
more  than  the  hump  shows  above  water,  anyway,  when 
the  whales  are  undisturbed;  but  the  spouts  arose,  at  in- 
tervals, in  a  leisurely  sort  of  way,  much  like  the  occa- 
sional spurt  of  steam  from  the  stack  of  a  locomotive  at 
rest  at  a  station.  The  spout  of  the  sperm  whale  does  not 
go  straight  up,  but  forward  at  an  angle.  And  as  the 
spouts  rose,  they  went  more  slowly  yet,  and  they  spread 
out  and  drifted  slowly  for  a  moment,  perfect  plumes,  and 
vanished. 

It  seemed  to  be  a  small  pod  of  whales,  I  could  not  tell 
just  how  many,  for  no  sooner  did  one  come  to  the  sur- 
face and  blow,  than  another,  having  had  his  spoutings 
out,  would  up  flukes  and  go  down.  No  one  could  miss  see- 
ing that,  the  great  flukes  high  in  air  just  before  the  whale 
sounded,  and  the  cry  from  the  masthead  of  "  There  go 
flukes  ! "  seemed  wholly  unnecessary. 

At  that  time  I  did  not  know  very  much  about  the  hab- 
its of  whales,  or  about  anything  else,  for  that  matter,  con- 
nected with  the  life  I  thought  I  had  elected.  Whales  — 
sperm  whales,  for  I  always  mean  sperm  whales  when  I 
say  simply  whales  —  when  undisturbed  pursue  their 
regular  round  of  activities  in  an  extraordinarily  orderly 
manner.  They  go  below  the  surface  to  feed.  Nobody 
knows  how  deep  they  go,  but  they  go  deep  enough  to 


THE  SPERM  WHALE  SOUNDING      55 

find  the  squid  on  which  they  feed.  Sounding  whales  fre- 
quently take  half  a  mile  of  whale  line  almost  straight 
down,  sometimes  more;  and  they  often  come  up  straight 
at  the  boat.  There  is  no  means  of  knowing  whether  they 
go  habitually  deeper  than  that,  but  the  pressure  upon  their 
huge  bodies  at  that  depth  is  something  enormous,  and 
the  changes  of  pressure  in  coming  up  at  the  rate  they 
sometimes  —  often  —  do  come  up  are  very  rapid.  Deep- 
sea  fish,  pulled  from  that  depth,  are  apt  to  be  turned 
nearly  inside  out,  because  of  their  inability  to  regulate 
the  pressure  in  their  air-bladders  quickly  enough.  I  never 
knew  what  mechanism  the  whale  uses,  if  he  has  any,  to 
guard  against  the  consequences  of  such  rapid  pressure 
changes,  but  he  certainly  does  not  use  the  air-bladder 
method.  It  makes  very  little  difference  what  method  he 
uses,  or  whether  he  has  any  other  than  his  great  strength, 
it  works  very  well,  and  in  a  way  perfectly  satisfactory  to 
the  whale. 

Having  sounded  by  the  simple  method  of  throwing  his 
flukes  in  the  air,  and  pointing  his  body  straight  down,  he 
stays  down  for  a  time  which  is  constant  for  the  individual 
whale,  so  far  as  anybody  has  been  able  to  observe,  and 
surprisingly  uniform  for  whales  in  general,  taking  into 
account  age,  size,  and  sex.  The  time  is  undoubtedly  de- 
termined by  the  reserves  of  oxygenated  blood  he  has  been 
able  to  accumulate  in  some  way  or  other  —  entirely  ob- 
scure to  me  —  to  enable  him  to  close  his  spiracles  and 
hold  his  breath  for  an  hour  or  more.  For  a  full-grown 
bull  whale  will  stay  down  for  an  hour  or  an  hour  and  ten 
minutes,  and  when  he  comes  up  he  breathes  perhaps  sev- 
enty times  at  intervals  of  about  eleven  seconds.  When  he 
has  taken  the  usual  number  of  breaths,  which  is  known  as 
"  having  his  spoutings  out,"  he  ups  flukes  and  goes  down 
again.  A  female  will  stay  down  from  thirty  to  forty  min- 
utes, and  young  whales  perhaps  twenty  to  thirty,  depend- 
ing upon  their  age  and  strength. 


56  SHE  BLOWS! 

Whales  are  not  always  feeding,  of  course,  and  when 
not  so  engaged,  and  when  they  are  feeling  lively,  they 
may  amuse  themselves  with  play,  much  as  other  animals 
do.  The  play  of  a  sportive  whale  is  not  of  a  kind  that  I 
ever  cared  to  join  in.  They  sometimes  come  up  from  the 
depths  at  great  speed,  and  throw  their  bodies  clean  out 
of  the  water.  This  is  called  "  breaching."  Breaching  may 
not  be  the  play  of  a  whale  that  is  particularly  sportive, 
but  due  to  an  effort  to  clear  the  body  pf  barnacles  and 
crabs  and  such-like.  And  they  sometimes  raise  their  flukes 
high  in  air,  and  bring  them  down  on  the  surface  again, 
or  "  lobtail,"  t'le  blow  upon  the  surface  of  the  water  mak- 
ing a  noise  like  a  great  gun  that  can  be  heard  for  a  great 
distance. 

They  have  other  things  which  they  do  with  their  flukes, 
which  seem  to  be  endowed  with  a  special  sense  of  touch, 
like  the  fingers  of  a  blind  person.  Indeed,  as  I  think  I 
have  said,  the  sight  of  whales  is  very  poor.  The  eyes  of  a 
whale  are  so  placed  in  his  head  that  there  are  consider- 
able angles  in  front  and  behind  throughout  which  he 
could  see  nothing  if  he  had  the  best  of  eyes;  but  it  is 
more  than  that.  His  eyes  do  not  seem  to  be  of  the  best. 

I  have  never  chanced  to  see  any  explanation  of  this 
which  seemed  reasonable,  but  one  occurred  to  me  after 
I  had  learned  to  swim,  which  I  did  a  few  years  later. 
It  is  not  possible  for  me  to  see  outlines  clearly  under 
water,  and  I  suppose  that  the  same  thing  is  true  of  any 
normal  person.  The  reason  is  that  the  curvature  of  the 
surface  of  the  eye  is  adapted  to  use  in  air.  Water  is,  of 
course,  more  dense  than  air,  optically  as  well  as  in  other 
ways,  and  to  see  well  in  water  the  eye  surfaces  would 
have  to  be  much  more  curved.  In  other  words,  the  eye 
would  have  to  be  very  near-sighted  in  air  to  have  nor- 
mal sight  under  water.  It  is  of  some  importance  to  the 
whale  to  have  normal  sight  under  water,  although  there 
again  is  the  difficulty   of   nearly   total   absence   of   light 


THE  BOATS  GET  AWAY  57 

at  great  depths.  But  I  should  expect  to  find  the  whale 
very  near-sighted,  and  perhaps  with  an  eye  somewhat 
similar  to  that  of  nocturnal  animals.  I  do  not  know 
whether  anybody  has  ever  observed  that.  I  never  have. 
It  is  somewhat  difficult  to  make  such  observations. 

I  have  interrupted  my  narrative  to  say  something 
about  the  habits  of  whales,  for  I  hope  that  has  made  it 
evident  how  hard  it  was  for  a  greenhorn  like  me  to  tell 
the  number  of  whales  in  the  pod  from  the  number  of 
spouts  that  I  could  identify  at  any  one  time.  In  fact, 
there  were  times  when  all  had  disappeared;  but  I  stayed 
there,  crouched  on  my  hunkers  just  forward  of  the  lub- 
ber-hole, with  my  back  against  the  mast,  and  I  watched 
those  drifting  plumes  of  vapor,  and  I  was  much  excited 
and  quite  happy. 

The  boats  had  been  lowered,  the  harpooners  overhaul- 
ing their  irons  as  the  boats  were  dropped  into  the  water. 
I  watched  the  four  boats  tossing  in  the  sea  astern  of  us 
while  their  crews  were  stepping  the  masts  and  setting  the 
sails.  Mr.  Baker's  boat  got  her  sail  set  first,  and  stood 
away  for  the  whales;  then  Mr.  Brown,  the  third  mate, 
who  seemed  to  have  his  crew  well  in  hand.  Mr.  Brown 
was  a  silent,  uncommunicative  man,  but  he  knew  his  du- 
ties, and  something  more.  Then  came  Mr.  Tilton's  boat, 
only  a  couple  of  seconds  behind  the  third  mate.  Mr.  Til- 
ton  was  fourth  mate.  Last  of  all  came  Mr.  Wallet,  fully 
a  minute  behind  the  others.  I  am  afraid  I  snickered  at 
that,  but  it  was  just  what  I  had  expected  and  hoped  for. 
I  hardly  know  why  I  had  taken  such  a  dislike  to  Mr. 
Wallet  so  early  in  the  voyage,  for  he  had  not  been  un- 
pleasant to  me  in  any  way.  It  must  have  been  because  I 
thought  him  a  poor  stick. 

It  was  a  pretty  sight.  The  weather  was  perfect,  a  mod- 
erate westerly  breeze,  and  bright  sunshine  sparkling  on 
the  water,  with  the  four  boats  driving  ahead  before  the 
wind  and  spreading  out  fanwise  as  they  went,  and  the  oc- 


58  SHE  BLOWS! 

casional  feathery  spouts  in  the  distance.  The  boats  looked 
like  toy  boats  upon  a  painted  ocean  with  tiny  streaks  of 
cotton  wool  foam  at  their  bows.  I  was  not  very  high  above 
them,  but  the  whole  picture  was  spread  out  before  my 
eyes.  It  would  have  been  much  better  at  the  masthead.  I 
looked  aloft  as  I  thought  of  that,  with  some  vague  idea  of 
trying  to  get  up  there,  and  I  saw  the  Admiral  busy  with 
a  flag.  It  was  a  sort  of  dirt-colored  banner,  and  he  seemed 
to  be  trying  experiments  with  it,  hoisting  it  full  up,  then 
trying  it  at  half-mast,  then  stretching  it  out  at  one  side 
or  at  the  other,  or  taking  it  in  completely.  He  was  sig- 
nalling to  the  boats  the  position  of  the  whales,  which  he 
could  see  very  well,  while  the  men  in  the  boats  could  see 
them  only  occasionally  or  not  at  all.  When  the  boats  got 
near  enough  the  Admiral  put  his  flag  away. 

Meanwhile  the  ship  was  keeping  off  after  the  boats. 
They  had  been  bracing  the  yards  around  slowly,  for  there 
were  few  men  left  on  her  besides  the  idlers,  of  whom  I 
was  one.  Nobody  saw  me  —  nobody  thought  of  me,  very 
possibly  —  and  I  stayed  crouched  in  the  maintop  and 
watched  the  boats.  It  did  not  occur  to  me  that  my  duty 
lay  on  deck.  Captain  Nelson  told  me  of  it  afterward.  At 
the  time  the  masthead  man  was  the  only  man  who  caught 
sight  of  me.  I  caught  him  grinning  at  me  several  times, 
and  wondered  what  he  was  grinning  about. 

The  boats,  by  this  time,  had  got  very  near  the  place 
where  I  had  last  seen  the  spouts,  but  there  were  none  to  be 
seen  now,  and  all  boats  except  Mr.  Wallet's  had  taken  in 
their  sails,  and  lay  rocking  and  waiting  for  the  whales  to 
come  up.  Mr.  Wallet  was  still  a  long  way  behind,  for  even 
the  wind  seemed  to  help  all  the  others  more  than  it  did 
him.  I  had  my  glass  to  my  eyes,  and  I  saw  a  gentle  com- 
motion in  the  water  beyond  Mr.  Brown's  boat,  then  an- 
other beyond  Mr.  Baker's,  and  almost  instantly  two 
spouts  arose,  very  close  to  the  boats,  and  the  men  took 
to  their  oars  with  a  will.  As  the  whales  had  just  come  up, 


HARPOONING  A  WHALE  59 

and  had  had  no  chance  to  breathe  more  than  once  or  twice, 
to  say  nothing  of  having  their  spoutings  out,  they  could 
not  go  down  again,  or  if  they  did,  they  could  stay -down 
but  a  few  minutes.  This  was  just  the  condition  the  men 
had  been  waiting  for,  and  they  took  full  advantage  of  it.  I 
could  see  Macy,  the  boatsteerer  in  Mr.  Baker's  boat,  — 
the  boatsteerer  rows  the  bow  oar,  —  take  in  his  oar,  face 
about  toward  the  bow,  and  stand  up.  He  fitted  his  thigh 
into  the  thigh-hole  in  the  cleat,  took  the  first  harpoon  from 
the  crotch,  and  poised  it  in  his  two  hands,  leaning  far 
forward.  The  chance  that  he  was  waiting  for  came  in  a 
few  seconds,  and  he  darted  the  harpoon  with  all  his 
strength;  instantly  seized  the  second  harpoon  from  the 
crotch,  and  threw  that  as  the  first  one  struck. 

I  had  hardly  been  able  to  see  the  whale,  as  there  was 
but  little  of  him  out  of  water,  and  that  little  only  an  in- 
distinguishable dark  mound;  but  immediately  upon  feel- 
ing the  irons  in  him,  he  raised  his  flukes  high  in  air,  and 
brought  them  down  upon  the  surface  with  a  tremendous 
crash.  They  missed  the  boat,  for  the  men  had  been  back- 
ing water  with  all  their  might,  but  the  miss  was  by  a 
small  margin,  and  the  boat  and  the  men  in  it  were  del- 
uged with  water.  Then  the  boatsteerer  made  his  way  aft, 
and  took  the  steering  oar,  and  Mr.  Baker  went  forward 
and  selected  his  lance.  He  had  no  chance  to  use  it  while 
they  were  in  sight,  however,  for  the  whale  set  off  for  the 
horizon  at  great  speed,  "  head  out,"  the  efforts  of  the 
powerful  flukes  making  his  whole  body  undulate,  so  that 
his  head  was  alternately  entirely  buried  in  the  sea,  and 
almost  completely  exposed,  the  narrow  under-jaw  serv- 
ing as  a  cutwater.  The  last  I  saw  of  that  boat,  Macy,  the 
boatsteerer,  stood  at  the  steering  oar,  keeping  the  boat 
straight  behind  the  fleeing  whale,  while  he  tried  to  snub 
the  whale  line  completely  by  taking  more  turns  around 
the  loggerhead.  A  thin  wreath  of  blue  smoke  was  rising 
from  the  loggerhead,  and  one  of  the  men  was  throwing 


60  SHE  BLOWS! 

water  by  the  hatful  upon  it.  The  boat  was  throwing  a 
sheet  of  water  on  each  side  of  her  bow,  almost  like  a 
stream  from  a  fire  hose. 

All  this  hardly  took  longer  than  it  takes  to  tell  it. 
Meanwhile  Mr.  Brown's  boat  had  pulled  hard  for  the  sec- 
ond whale,  a  longer  pul^than  Mr.  Baker's.  They  had  got 
.almost  within  darting  distance  when  Macy  struck  his 
|  whale,  and  every  man  in  Mr.  Brown's  boat  heard  the 
(thundering  crash  of  the  flukes  on  the  water. 

Wright,  the  boatsteerer,  was  already  taking  in  his  oar 
when  Mr.  Brown  gave  him  the  word,  for  he  knew  what  to 
expect.  It  is  not  strange  that  I  was  in  the  dark  as  to  the 
reasons  for  their  actions,  but  very  naturally  I  thought  it 
all  right,  although  it  did  not  seem  possible  to  dart  the 
heavy  harpoon  that  distance.  Of  course  I  could  not  hear 
what  Mr.  Brown  said,  but  Peter  told  me  later,  and  ex- 
plained the  actions  of  the  whales  according  to  his  own 
notions  —  which  may  be  right  enough.  At  all  events,  they 
are  the  notions  generally  held  by  whalemen. 

Wright  took  in  his  oar  hurriedly  —  too  hurriedly  — 
scrambled  to  his  place  in  the  bow,  and  grabbed  a  har- 
poon; but  the  whale  had  been  losing  no  time  either,  and 
the  boat  had  gained  but  a  few  feet  on  him  when  he 
started.  He  was  going  under  without  throwing  his  flukes 
into  the  air,  and  he  gathered  speed  very  quickly.  Wright 
threw  the  harpoon  with  all  the  force  left  in  him  after  his 
hard  pull,  but  it  was  a  good  twenty-five  foot  dart  to  the 
whale,  which  was  going  as  fast  as  the  boat,  and  Wright 
had  not  the  strength.  The  harpoon  fell  short  and  nicked 
the  whale's  flukes  on  an  up  stroke,  serving  only  to  in- 
crease his  speed  instantly,  and  he  disappeared. 

I  looked  around,  and  could  see  no  whales.  There  was 
Mr.  Baker's  boat  well  on  its  way  to  the  Azores,  with 
white  water  some  distance  ahead  of  it,  marking  the  ac- 
tion of  their  whale's  flukes  as  he  ran.  All  the  others  had 
vanished,  and  the  boats  lay  still  on  the  surface  of  the 


THE  WHALES  ARE  GALLIED         61 

sea  in  attitudes  of  dejection,  the  men  seeming  to  be  look- 
ing longingly  after  the  fleeing  whales.  In  a  few  minutes 
I  heard  a  cry  from  the  masthead,  and  saw  what  the  men 
were  looking  for.  There,  miles  away,  was  a  lone  spout, 
and  then  another,  and  a  third;  and  they  seemed  hurried. 
The  whales  had  been  swimming  under  water.  We  should 
not  get  near  those  whales  again,  and  the  boats  pulled 
slowly  to  the  ship. 

What  had  happened,  according  to  Peter,  was  this: 
Whales  have  some  mysterious  way  of  communicating  with 
each  other,  although  there  may  be  miles  of  water  between 
them.  Peter  did  not  undertake  to  say  what  the  means  of 
communication  was.  It  may  have  been  the  blow  of  the 
flukes  on  the  water  when  the  whale  was  struck  with  the 
harpoon,  although  whales  lobtail  frequently  without  caus- 
ing alarm  in  their  companions.  Whatever  the  means,  old 
whalemen  maintain  that,  when  a  whale  is  struck,  it  com- 
municates that  fact,  in  some  way,  to  the  others;  and  they 
become  "  gallied  "  —  frightened  —  and  make  off  at  once. 
I  had  seen  them  do  so,  and  how  could  I  doubt  it?  Of 
course  Peter  did  not  tell  me  about  it  at  that  time.  He  and 
his  boat,  and  all  the  men  in  it,  were  out  of  sight. 

I  stirred  myself  when  the  boats  were  alongside,  giving 
myself  a  shake,  I  remember,  and  waking  from  the  trance 
I  had  been  in.  I  do  not  know  how  I  got  down,  but  I  must 
have  thrown  my  legs  over  the  edge  of  the  crosstrees  and 
found  the  ratlines  on  the  futtock  shrouds  with  my  feet 
like  any  old  hand,  for  I  was  concerned  only  with  reaching 
the  deck  as  soon  as  possible. 

Mr.  Brown's  crew  were  just  coming  over  the  side  as  my 
feet  struck  the  deck.  I  rushed  at  Aziel  Wright,  the  boat- 
steerer,  and  shot  a  fusillade  of  questions  at  him,  for  I  was 
worried  about  Mr.  Baker's  boat  and  Peter.  The  boat  and 
her  crew  seemed  to  me  to  be  as  good  as  lost,  well  out  of 
sight  beyond  the  rim  of  the  sea,  and  going  strong.  Wright 
paid  no  attention  to  me  until  the  boat  was  up  to  the  davits 
and  the  wooden  brackets  swung  out  under  her  keel. 


62  SHE  BLOWS! 

When  the  boat  was  up  and  secure,  Wright  turned  to 
me.  He  was  a  tall,  lanky  man,  and  he  could  not  have  been 
over  thirty,  although  he  seemed  older.  He  had  a  little 
hacking  cough,  and  seemed  chronically  tired;  but  he  was 
pleasant,  and  already  a  good  friend  of  mine. 

"  What  is  it,  Tim  ?  "  h^e  asked.  "  Mr.  Baker's  boat  ?  Oh, 
they  're  all  right.  We  're  running  down  after  them  now. 
We  may  sight  them  any  time  now,  or  it  may  be  dark  be- 
fore we  find  them." 

"But,"  I  objected,  "the  whale  was  going  faster  than 
the  ship.  He  'd  take  them  —  " 

Wright  laughed.  "  True  enough.  There 's  no  telling 
where  he  'd  take  them  if  he  kept  it  up,  for  he  was  making 
a  good  ten  knots,  and  the  ship  is  n't  making  more  'n  five 
or  six.  But  he  can't  keep  it  up  a  great  while  —  twenty 
mile  or  so.  We  '11  sight  them,  it 's  likely,  in  a  few  hours." 

"  And  will  the  whale  fight  when  —  " 

"  When  he  stops  running  ?  "  Wright  finished  for  me. 
"  Can't  say,  but  't  is  n't  likely,  for  he  11  be  tired.  But 
you  never  can  tell  what  a  whale  '11  do." 

I  was  not  wholly  satisfied.  "  If  we  don't  see  them  be- 
fore dark,  how  will  we  find  them  ?  " 

"  Flares,"  said  Wright  briefly.  Then,  seeing  that  I  was 
mystified,  he  proceeded  to  explain.  I  suppose  he  thought 
that  he  made  the  matter  as  clear  as  daylight.  "  They  '11 
burn  flares  now  and  then,  and  we  '11  see  one  of  'em, 
maybe  more,  and  we  '11  run  down  and  pick  her  up." 

I  nodded,  and  thanked  him.  There  was  nothing  else 
that  I  knew  enough  to  ask  him,  although  I  was  still  un- 
satisfied, and  I  ran  below  to  get  it  all  down  in  my  jour- 
nal. At  the  time  I  made  mere  notes,  in  a  fragmentary  way, 
while  my  impressions  were  fresh.  I  wrote  up  the  notes 
later.  I  have  that  journal  by  me  now.  As  I  look  over  the 
scrawled  and  stained  pages,  and  read  the  disjointed  sen- 
tences, the  whole  thing  comes  back  before  me  as  if  it  had 
happened  yesterday.  I  sent  the  journal  home  from  time  to 


KEEPING  A  JOURNAL  63 

time,  as  I  had  planned  to  do,  as  long  as  I  had  opportuni- 
ties, and  managed  to  carry  home  the  part  covering  the 
last  part  of  my  cruise.  My  father  and  my  mother  pre- 
served my  old  journal  as  if  it  were  a  precious  thing.  I 
found  it  nearly  thirty  years  later  with  my  father's  most 
valuable  papers. 


CHAPTER  VII 

It  was  past  eight  bells  when  the  boats  came  aboard  — * 
eight  bells  being,  in  this*case,  noon  —  and  all  hands  had 
dinner.  I  hurried  through  my  work  of  helping  the  stew- 
ard, and  ran  on  deck.  There  was  no  sign  of  Mr.  Baker 
or  of  anything  else  on  that  limitless  sea.  The  whale  had 
run  to  leeward,  contrary  to  the  custom  of  whales,  which 
usually  run  to  windward  when  they  can.  The  ship  was 
rolling  along  in  her  leisurely  way,  almost  before  the  wind, 
and  making  a  pleasant  and  soothing  noise  under  her  fore- 
foot and  on  either  side  as  she  rolled.  Ordinarily  I  should 
have  enjoyed  her  leisurely  progress,  and  should  have 
found  some  place  which  was  out  of  sight  from  aft,  per- 
haps on  the  heel  of  the  bowsprit,  on  the  principle  that  out 
of  sight  was  out  of  mind.  There  I  should  have  squatted, 
and  gazed  out  ahead  and  fallen  to  dreaming,  probably, 
until  recalled  to  myself  by  a  shout  of  "  Tim  !  Where  's 
that  boy  ?  "  But  I  was  getting  anxious  about  Mr.  Baker's 
boat,  and  I  could  not  understand  the  indifferent  attitude 
of  everybody  on  board.  Nobody  seemed  to  care  whether 
he  was  ever  found  or  not,  although  I  could  not  see,  when 
I  came  to  think  it  over,  what  more  could  be  done  than 
was  being  done.  The  ship  was  going  as  fast  as  she  could 
—  nearly  as  fast.  They  could  have  got  a  little  more  sail 
on  her.  And  the  mastheads  were  manned. 

I  went  up  forward,  and  stood  between  the  knightheads 
for  a  while,  but  I  was  ashamed  to  ask  anybody,  and  I  gave 
it  up,  and  went  below  to  work  on  my  journal.  I  could  not 
keep  my  mind  on  it,  however,  and  after  half  an  hour  or  so 
I  went  on  deck  again.  Mr.  Wallet  and  Mr.  Brown  were 
walking  to  and  fro,  and  Captain  Nelson  was  standing  by 
the  starboard  rail,  not  leaning,  but  swaying  to  the  roll  of 
the  ship.  I  went  and  stood  beside  him,  saying  nothing. 


WORRY  OVER  A  LOST  BOAT  65 

He  paid  no  attention  to  me  for  a  long  time,  and  I  edged 
closer.  He  glanced  around  then,  with  an  expression  of 
annoyance. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  what 's  the  matter  with  you,  Tim  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  sir,"  I  stammered  hesitatingly.  "  I  was  won- 
dering about  Mr.  Baker." 

"  Huh  !  "  he  said.  "  So  was  I.  He 's  all  right,  1  guess. 
We  're  edging  down  that  way  now.  Worried  ?  " 

"  Well  —  no,  sir,  not  if  you  're  not." 

"  Huh  !  "  he  said  again,  under  his  breath.  "  Always 
worried,  more  or  less,  when  a  boat 's  lost.  But  Mr. 
Baker  's  pretty  well  able  to  take  care  of  himself.  Nothing 
to  worry  about." 

"  No,  sir,  I  suppose  not,  but  I  thought  we  'd  sight  him 
before  this.  That  whale  must  have  taken  him  a  long  way." 

The  captain  only  grunted  in  reply.  I  did  not  like  to 
press  the  matter,  and  I  had  turned  away,  when  he  called 
me  back. 

"  Tim,"  he  said,  "  you  can  take  your  glass  to  the  fore- 
masthead,  if  you  want  to,  and  see  if  you  can  see  any  sign 
of  him." 

There  was  a  little  crinkle  of  amusement  about  his  eyes 
as  he  spoke.  Evidently  he  thought  that  would  be  the  last 
thing  I  wanted.  It  was.  As  I  turned  and  looked  up,  I  saw 
that  the  foremasthead  meant  the  hoops.  One  man  was  al- 
ready there,  the  tall,  silent  black  man,  that  we  called 
Tony.  I  had  but  just  got  so  that  I  could  climb  in  and  out 
of  the  maintop  without  having  my  heart  in  my  throat; 
but  I  was  not  going  to  let  anybody  know  how  scared  I 
was,  if  I  could  help  it,  and  I  was  not  going  to  funk  any- 
thing that  the  captain  —  the  old  man,  as  I  had  come  to 
call  him  to  myself  and  to  others  of  the  crew  —  suggested 
for  me  to  do,  even  if  he  did  not  order  it. 

I  turned  back.  "  Yes,  sir,"  I  said  in  a  small  voice ;  and 
I  started. 

I  was  an  active  boy,  and  fairly  strong  for  my  age;  and 


66  SHE  BLOWS! 

I  did  it  somehow.  I  think  I  held  my  breath  for  the  last 
stretch,  and  I  know  I  was  thoroughly  scared  until  I  got 
there,  and  Black  Tony  lent  me  a  hand  into  the  hoops. 

The  ship  was  rolling  more  than  I  had  thought.  On  deck 
the  roll  was  scarcely  noticeable,  but  at  the  foremasthead 
it  was  a  different  mattef.  I  found  that  I  was  being  car- 
ried through  an  arc  of  fifteen  or  twenty  feet,  and  at  first 
I  could  do  nothing  but  hold  on  to  the  hoop.  Tony  did  not 
laugh  or  speak.  He  did  not  even  grin,  but  watched  me 
and  waited,  thereby  earning  my  enduring  gratitude.  After 
a  few  minutes  I  found  that  I  did  not  mind  the  motion  so 
much,  and  I  put  my  arms  over  the  hoop,  and  took  up  my 
glass,  but  did  not  put  it  to  my  eyes. 

It  was  beautiful  weather,  the  sun  shining  brightly  and 
pleasantly  warm,  and  a  brisk  breeze,  under  which  the  sea 
to  leeward,  as  far  as  I  could  see,  was  deep  indigo,  with 
white  caps  here  and  there  which  flashed  dazzlingly  white 
in  the  sun.  It  seemed  to  me,  I  remember,  that  I  could  see 
almost  around  the  world,  although  there  was  a  curious 
saucer-like  effect  of  the  water  near  the  ship.  She  seemed 
to  be  moving  in  the  centre  of  a  slight  depression,  a  mile 
or  so  in  diameter,  and  over  that  rim  the  sea  curved  away 
as  it  should.  I  was  so  taken  up  with  the  beauty  and  the 
breadth  of  view  that  I  forgot  what  I  had  come  there  for, 
and  I  got  to  like  the  swing  to  and  fro.  It  was  as  sooth- 
ing as  a  hammock,  the  gulls  screamed  about  my  head,  and 
I  got  to  dreaming.  I  have  never  got  over  my  liking  for  a 
wide  prospect,  and  with  such  a  prospect  unrolled  before 
lme,  I  am,  even  now,  as  apt  to  get  to  dreaming  as  I  ever 
was.  I  was  too  apt  to  do  it  then. 

Something  far  off  upon  those  bobbing  waves  must 
have  attracted  the  attention  of  my  unseeing  eyes,  for  I 
came  out  of  my  dreaming  abruptly;  but  the  thing  had 
gone.  Again  I  thought  I  saw  it,  but  it  was  of  the  color  of 
a  sea  in  shadow.  I  put  my  glass  to  my  eyes,  and  searched 
the  sea.  It  must  have  been  six  or  seven  miles  off,  or  more, 


STRIKING  A  DERELICT  67 

and  I  could  not  find  it,  but  I  saw  only  a  panorama  of  curi- 
ously bobbing  waves  going  straight  up  and  down.  Then 
I  happened  upon  it  again  for  an  instant,  as  it  crossed  the 
field  of  my  glass,  what  looked  like  the  bow  of  a  boat  just 
rising  over  a  sea.  I  was  still  searching  for  it  when  I  felt  a 
thump  on  the  bottom  of  the  ship,  and  a  strange  shivering 
of  the  mast.  It  was  over  in  a  second,  but  I  had  dropped 
my  glass.  If  it  had  not  been  tied  around  my  neck  it  would 
have  dropped  to  the  deck  below,  and  it  might  have  killed 
a  man.  That  old  glass  was  almost  heavy  enough  to  go 
through  the  deck,  dropped  from  the  masthead.  I  found 
myself  staring  at  Black  Tony,  while  he  stared  at  me. 
Then  he  looked  directly  down  into  the  sea  below  him. 

What  he  saw  there  I  did  not  know,  but  he  gave  a  cry, 
and  I  felt  rather  than  heard  a  sort  of  scraping  along  the 
keel,  and  the  Clearchus  almost  stopped,  and  she  began  to 
careen.  She  careened  more  and  more,  and  up  there  at  the 
masthead  it  seemed  as  if  she  must  capsize.  I  did  not  stop 
to  think,  but  a  panic  seized  me,  and  I  slid  and  scrambled 
down  the  starboard  rigging  until  I  was  in  the  foretop. 
There  I  stood  and  collected  my  scattered  wits,  and  real- 
ized that,  in  my  panic,  I  had  come  down,  without  a 
thought,  over  rigging  that  I  had  been  very  much  afraid 
of.  Although  the  topgallant  shrouds  have  ratlines  on  them 
on  all  whalers  and  most  merchantmen,  they  are  pretty 
high  up  and  seem  none  too  secure  to  a  boy  on  them  for 
the  first  time.  If  it  had  not  been  for  my  momentary  scare 
I  might  be  up  there  yet. 

I  was  about  to  come  down  from  the  foretop  with  much 
dignity  and  a  swelling  of  the  chest,  when  I  saw  that  all 
hands,  including  the  officers,  were  looking  intently  into 
the  water  astern,  and  naturally  my  gaze  followed  theirs. 
The  ship  had  recovered  her  equilibrium  by  this  time,  and 
was  going  serenely  about  her  business;  but,  about  half  a 
cable's  length  in  her  wake,  some  huge,  smooth  body  was 
slowly  rising  to  the  surface.  At  first  I  thought  it  was  a 


68  SHE  BLOWS! 

whale  which  we  had  run  into  and  over ;  but  as  it  continued 
to  rise,  I  saw  that  it  was  too  big  for  a  whale.  It  broke  the 
surface,  exposing  a  smooth  shape  like  a  vessel's  bilge, 
dark-colored  and  covered  with  weed,  and  continued  to  rise 
very  slowly  until  the  whole  length  was  revealed,  and  I 
could  even  catch  glimpses  of  the  keel.  It  remained  on  the 
surface  for  half  a  minute,  perhaps,  then  a  sea  heaved  up 
the  stern,  and  the  hulk  began  to  sink  as  slowly  and  ma- 
jestically as  it  had  risen.  It  was  the  hull  of  some  vessel, 
waterlogged  and  water-soaked  so  that  it  floated  some 
feet  below  the  surface  of  the  sea,  rising  and  falling,  or 
perhaps  remaining  stationary  below  the  influence  of  the 
waves.  It  must  have  been  afloat  for  years  to  be  so  cov- 
ered with  weed.  I  wondered  where  it  had  been  when  it 
met  disaster;  possibly  on  the  coast  of  Africa,  or  in  the 
Bay  of  Biscay,  or  even  in  some  more  remote  seas;  and 
how  much  longer  would  it  be  a  plaything  of  ocean  cur- 
rents ? 

Captain  Nelson  was  standing  under  the  after  house, 
still  gazing  astern,  when  I  went  to  report  to  him.  Half 
a  dozen  men,  including  the  sailmaker  who  performed  the 
duties  of  carpenter,  and  the  cooper,  had  been  sent  below 
to  see  whether  the  Clearchus  had  been  damaged  by  the 
collision,  but  the  old  man  did  not  seem  worried.  I  asked 
him  about  it,  no  doubt  a  piece  of  impertinence  on  my 
part. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  Did  n't  you  see  where  we  had  run 
over  her  ?  Did  n't  even  scrape  off  the  whole  of  the  weed. 
Glancing  blow." 

"  What  sort  of  a  vessel  was  it,  sir  ?  Do  you  think  it  was 
a  whaler  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head  again.  "  Not  a  whaler.  No  copper 
on  her  bottom."  Then  he  smiled  suddenly,  for  he  had  seen 
the  whole  of  my  performance.  "  See  anything  up  there  ?  " 

I  told  him  that  I  thought  I  had  seen  a  boat,  but  I  could 
not  be  sure,  there  was  so  much  mirage  or  something. 


THE  LOST  BOAT  69 

*'  Looked  like  a  boat,  did  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  Like  the  bow  of  a  boat.*  I  could  n't  see  it  very 
well.  It  was  the  color  of  the  water,  and  it  looked  as  if  it 
was  cut  off,  but  I  don't  suppose  it  was.  There  was  some- 
thing that  looked  like  a  flag  or  something." 

Captain  Nelson  smiled  more  broadly.  "  May  have  been 
a  flag  or  something.  How  far  off  ?  " 

"  Eight  miles,  perhaps.  I  don't  know." 

"  Well,  the  lookout  has  n't  reported  it,  and  I  'm  afraid 
you  did  n't  see  anything.  I  did  n't  know  but  you  had  seen 
a  ghost,  you  came  down  so  fast." 

"  No,  sir  —  "I  began.  Then  I  felt  myself  growing  red, 
my  face  and  my  neck,  even  to  my  body  and  the  roots  of 
my  hair,  and  I  stammered  and  stopped. 

"  Never  mind.  You  got  down  quicker  than  you  will 
again  for  a  long  time,  and  I  was  afraid  you  might  have 
trouble.  There  was  some  excuse  for  you.  I  've  been  scared, 
myself." 

"  Then,  Captain  Nelson,  may  I  go  up  again  ?  " 

"  Now  ?  What  do  you  want  to  go  up  again  now  for  ? 
Nothing  to  see  up  there.  See  if  the  steward  does  n't  want 
you." 

We  stood  on  to  leeward  for  the  rest  of  the  day  without 
sighting  the  boat.  I  was  getting  really  worried  about  it. 
At  sunset  we  shortened  sail,  as  we  did  always  on  cruising 
grounds.  The  light  sails  were  taken  in,  the  topsail  close- 
reefed,  and  the  ship  was  brought  close  to  the  wind,  lying 
to  during  the  night,  so  as  to  stay  as  nearly  as  possible  in 
one  place.  If  we  took  any  chances  of  overrunning  the  boat, 
there  was  some  danger  that  it  might  be  lost  in  earnest, 
while,  if  we  kept  to  windward  of  it,  there  was  little  chance 
of  that.  I  stayed  on  deck  after  supper  as  long  as  I  could 
keep  my  eyes  open,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  the  flare  which 
Wright  had  mentioned,  but  I  saw  none.  By  two  bells  — 
nine  o'clock  —  I  was  so  sleepy  that  I  fell  asleep  halfway 
up  the  main  rigging,  and  just  caught  myself  as  I  was  fall- 


70  SHE  BLOWS! 

ing.  my  arm  hooked  around  the  shrouds.  Men  sometimes 
fall  sound  asleep  on*  a  yard,  toward  the  end  of  a  long 
watch,  hanging  on  unconsciously  by  their  shoulders  and 
their  legs,  with  an  arm  hooked  around  a  stay.  No  officer 
will  arouse  a  man  in  thig  condition,  for  there  is  great  dan- 
ger that  he  will  fall  overboard  in  his  instinctive  start  at  a 
command.  I  did  not  know  of  this  at  the  time,  but  I  was  a 
little  frightened  at  my  narrow  escape  from  a  fall,  and  I 
went  below  and  turned  in  at  once. 

I  fell  asleep  as  soon  as  I  touched  my  bunk,  and  slept 
until  morning.  I  remembered  very  vaguely  that  there  was 
some  unusual  noise  over  my  head  at  some  time  during  the 
night,  and  that  afterward  I  heard  a  noise  in  the  cabin, 
but  I  did  not  rouse  enough  to  wonder  at  it.  It  was  only  in 
the  morning  that  it  seemed  to  have  any  significance,  and 
as  soon  as  I  was  really  awake  I  got  into  my  clothes  hur- 
riedly and  went  on  deck.  There  was  Mr.  Baker's  boat  on 
the  davits,  where  she  belonged,  and  there  was  Peter  Bot- 
tom smiling  at  me,  and  there,  alongside  to  starboard,  was 
our  first  whale,  floating  on  his  side,  with  his  flukes 
toward  the  bow,  the  water  about  him  filled  with  sharks. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

The  water  actually  boiled  with  sharks,  feasting  and  fight- 
ing. There  was  a  multitude  of  them,  big  fellows,  from  six 
to  twelve  feet  long,  and  they  took  bites  about  the  size  of 
a  football  right  out  of  the  whale's  side.  It  was  hard  to 
see  how  they  could  do  it,  with  their  projecting  snouts,  and 
I  did  not  make  it  out  very  well  with  all  my  watching.  A 
shark  would  glide  directly  at  the  whale,  about  a  foot  or 
two  under  the  surface,  there  would  be  the  flash  of  whitish 
belly  as  he  turned  over,  and  he  would  glide  on  under,  or 
turn  without  stopping;  but  there  was  always  the  neat, 
round  hole  where  he  had  scooped  out  his  mouthful.  Two 
of  the  biggest  sharks  repeatedly  threw  themselves  up  on 
the  carcass,  from  which,  of  course,  they  slipped  off  imme- 
diately; but  they  always  left  smooth,  round  holes  behind 
them. 

"  And  they  take  a  good  quart  of  oil  at  every  mouth- 
ful," said  Peter's  voice  at  my  elbow.  I  had  been  so  intent 
on  the  sharks  that  I  had  not  heard  him  come.  "  Those  big 
fellows  take  more.  Three  of  their  bites  would  make  a  gal- 
lon of  oil." 

I  seized  the  chance  to  get  from  Peter  the  story  of  the 
capture  of  the  whale.  It  was  a  short  story  in  the  telling, 
possibly  because  he  saw  that  I  was  as  much  interested  in 
the  sharks  as  I  was  in  the  story;  but  I  think  Peter  would 
have  made  no  long  story  of  it  in  any  case. 

"  'T  is  soon  told,"  he  said.  "  He  ran  for  four  or  five 
hours,  twelve  knots  or  more  at  first,  then  ten,  and  then 
less,  but  faster  than  the  ship  sails.  A  nice  kind  of  a  sleigh- 
ride,  Timmie.  We  had  a  good  deal  of  trouble  heaving  close 
to  lance  him,  for  he  was  cunning  and  knowing,  and  man- 
aged to  keep  out  of  the  way.  He  turned  fin  out  about  sun- 


72  SHE  BLOWS! 

set,  and  we  burned  flares  now  and  then  while  we  pulled 
to  windward.  Raised  the  ship  about  four  bells,  but  the 
sea  was  so  high  we  had  trouble  getting  the  fluke-chain 
fast,  and  it  was  nearly  midnight  before  we  had  the  boat 
on  the  davits.  Look  at  that,  now  !  Would  n't  it  surprise 
you  the  life  there  is  in  a  shark  ?  " 

He  pointed  to  a  shark  whose  bowels  were  protruding 
from  a  cut  in  its  belly.  The  shark  was  so  intent  on  feast-« 
ing  while  the  feast  was  good  that  he  paid  no  attention 
to  an  injury  which,  one  would  think,  was  disabling.  The 
intestine  gradually  came  out,  and  trailed  in  a  long,  wrig- 
gling line  as  he  swam.  Other  sharks  attacked  and  tore 
at  it. 

For  the  sharks  were  not  having  it  all  their  own  way. 
The  cutting-stage  had  been  rigged  and  lowered,  and 
George  Hall  and  Miller,  the  boatsteerers  for  the  second 
mate  and  the  fifth  mate,  were  stationed  on  it  with  sharp 
spades,  and  were  doing  what  damage  to  the  sharks  they 
could.  A  shark  has  as  many  lives  as  a  cat.  An  enormous 
shark  came  at  great  speed,  and  threw  himself  fairly  upon 
the  carcass  of  the  whale. 

"  Pin  him  through  the  nose  !  "  Peter  shouted.  "  Pin 
him  through  the  nose  !  " 

I  did  not  know  what  he  was  talking  about,  but  Hall 
and  Miller  did.  At  the  same  instant  they  threw  their 
spades  with  all  their  force.  The  aim  was  true,  and  while 
the  shark  was  still  wriggling  on  the  whale  both  spades 
struck  him  on  the  projecting  snout,  pierced  it  and  went 
through  deep  into  the  whale's  body,  pinning  him  there. 
The  projecting  snout  of  the  shark  is  the  one  sensitive 
place  in  his  whole  body.  The  struggles  of  this  shark  were 
terrific.  He  thrashed  the  water  with  his  tail,  sending  up 
sheets  of  spray  which  drenched  Hall  and  Miller  on  the 
cutting-stage;  then  the  sea  receded,  and  his  tail  thrashed 
the  bare  blubber  with  noises  like  explosions.  The  crew 
quickly  gathered  at  the  rail,  laughing  at  Hall  and  Miller, 


THE  FIRST  WHALE  73 

and  at  tha  struggles  of  the  shark.  But  his  struggles  were 
not  fruitless,  for  they  freed  the  spades  from  the  body  of 
the  whale,  and  the  shark  slipped  back  into  the  sea.  Here 
his  struggles  were  more  violent  than  ever,  and  the  spades 
quickly  drew  out  of  his  nose,  and  he  made  off. 

Both  Hall  and  Miller  had  let  go  the  handles  of  their 
spades  in  the  surprise  of  the  drenching,  but  there  were 
light  lines  attaching  them  loosely  to  the  railing  of  the 
cutting-stage.  They  now  recovered  them,  and  were  pre- 
paring to  resume  the  slaughter,  when  they  were  called 
in.  Cutting-in  was  about  to  begin.  Hall  offered  me  his 
spade,  and  suggested  that  I  see  if  I  could  not  get  a 
shark  or  two.  I  was  very  willing  to  try,  as  I  would  try 
anything.  I  did  not  make  a  success  of  it.  I  might  have 
improved  if  I  had  had  time  to  practise,  but  I  was  called 
in  almost  immediately.  I  did  not  become  a  really  good 
shot  with  a  spade  until  I  had  my  growth  and  strength. 

Attached  to  the  head  of  the  mainmast  —  the  top  of  the 
lower  mast,  where  I  had  sat  in  the  crosstrees  —  were  two 
great  tackles,  just  alike.  The  blocks  in  each  of  these  "  cut- 
ting-tackles," which  are  used  to  strip  off  and  hoist  in  the 
blubber,  are  enormous  and  clumsy,  reaching  well  above  a 
man's  knee  as  they  rest  on  end  on  the  deck.  It  is  possible 
that  they  use  wire  rope  now,  and  iron  blocks,  which  would 
be  lighter  and  less  clumsy,  but  wire  rope  and  iron  blocks 
were  not  used,  in  my  time,  for  any  such  purpose.  The 
gangway,  from  which  two  men  were  taking  out  the  re- 
movable section  of  bulwarks,  is  forward  of  the  mainmast. 
As  all  the  blubber  is  hoisted  in  at  the  gangway,  it  is  de- 
sirable that  the  pull  of  the  tackles  shall  be  in  line  with  the 
gangway.  Each  of  the  falls,  therefore,  ran  through  a 
loop  or  eye  in  a  large  cable  running  to  the  foremast;  and 
by  hauling  in  on  this  cable  the  tackle  could  be  pulled  for- 
ward to  a  point  over  the  line  of  the  gangway. 

As  I  came  inboard  I  met  the  men  carrying  these  heavy, 
clumsy  blocks  to  the  side,  two  men  to  each  block,  and 


74  SHE  BLOWS! 

staggering  at  that;  and  the  artists  who  were  to  do  the 
cutting  were  waiting  for  me  to  get  off  the  stage.  These 
artists  were  the  mates,  four  of  the  five.  The  Clearchus 
was  a  five-boat  ship,  and  had  five  mates  to  head  her  five 
boats.  The  fifth  mate  was  named  Snow,  a  little  man,  but 
of  tremendous  energy.  Each  of  the  four  mates  carried  his 
spade,  and  as  soon  as  they  had  reached  their  places  on  the 
stage  the  cutting-in  began. 

The  whaling-spade  is  perhaps  the  implement  most  used 
in  whaling,  and  for  a  surprising  variety  of  purposes,  but 
its  primary  purpose  is  for  cutting.  Spades  are  made  in 
many  sizes  and  shapes,  or  the  shape  of  a  spade  may  be 
changed  by  continual  sharpening,  or  to  suit  the  individual 
taste  of  the  user.  The  typical  blade  is  usually  about  four 
inches  wide  and  a  foot  or  so  in  length,  with  straight  sides, 
and,  normally,  a  straight  edge.  It  tapers  in  thickness  from 
half  an  inch  or  more  at  the  top  of  the  blade  to  about  an 
eighth  of  an  inch  on  the  line  where  grinding  off  for  the 
edge  begins;  but  in  an  old  spade  which  has  been  much 
ground,  this  line  is  not  definite  or  distinct,  and  such  a 
spade  is  more  like  an  old  axe-head.  Indeed,  the  spade  is 
much  like  an  axe  designed  to  do  its  cutting  by  being 
pushed  or  thrown  endwise  instead  of  swung.  Above  the 
head  of  the  spade  is  the  socket  for  the  handle,  and  the 
socket  and  the  head  are  connected  by  a  shank  which  may 
be  several  feet  long,  or  may  be  reduced  almost  to  nothing. 

When  spades  are  used  for  the  purpose  for  which  they 
are  intended,  they  must  be  kept  very  sharp,  and  the  grind- 
stone is  always  in  service  on  deck.  A  blow  upon  a  bone 
destroys  the  edge  of  the  spade,  and  mates  are  usually 
careful  to  avoid  the  bones;  but  the  cutting-in  is  often 
done  in  a  heaving  sea,  by  a  man  on  a  single  plank  which 
may  not  heave  in  time  with  the  body  of  the  whale,  and  the 
spade  is  heavy,  with  a  flexible  sapling  handle  perhaps 
eighteen  feet  long,  and  he  may  not  be  able  to  see  what 
he  is  cutting,  three  or  four  feet  within  the  body  of  the 


CUTTING-IN 


CUTTING-IN  75 

whale;  when  the  head  is  being  cut  off,  for  instance,  or 
when  cutting  between  the  junk  and  the  skull.  Accidents 
will  happen  to  the  best  of  us.  Then  he  throws  his  spade 
inboard,  and  roars  for  a  sharp  one. 

Strangely  enough,  Mr.  Wallet  was  the  most  skilful 
cutter  we  had,  and  he  put  his  heart  into  his  work,  and 
took  great  interest  in  doing  it  well  and  quickly.  He  kept 
the  others  on  the  jump  to  keep  up  with  him,  and  nothing 
put  him  out  more  than  to  see  that  any  other  man  did  not 
have  to  hurry.  He  was  not  at  all  of  that  temper  in  any 
other  work  that  he  did.  In  fact,  he  was  pretty  nearly  a 
flat  failure  as  an  officer,  and  I  often  wondered  whether  it 
was  not  his  great  skill  with  the  spade  that  held  his  po- 
sition. 

The  order  of  the  different  operations  in  cutting-in  is 
always  necessarily  about  the  same,  but  some  slight  varia- 
tion in  them  is  fovnd  in  different  ships,  in  accordance 
with  the  ideas  of  the  men  who  do  the  cutting.  It  is  usual 
to  begin  with  cutting  off  the  head  at  the  same  time  that 
the  blanket  strip  of  blubber  is  unrolled.  Mr.  Wallet  varied 
this  practice  by  cutting  out  the  tongue  first,  which,  in  the 
sperm  whale,  is  moderately  large,  thick,  and  soft;  then 
he  cut  off  the  jaw,  and  then  severed  the  head  from  the 
body. 

Before  any  cutting  was  done,  the  whale  was  hauled  for- 
ward until  his  eye  was  opposite  the  gangway.  Then  Mr. 
Wallet  stepped  proudly  out  on  the  cutting-stage,  and 
fastened  his  monkey-rope  loosely  to  the  railing  of  the 
stage.  The  monkey-rope  is  about  a  man's  waist,  the  other 
end  fast  to  any  convenient  thing,  or  held  by  another  man 
on  the  ship.  Its  purpose  is  to  prevent  a  man's  falling  into 
the  sea.  After  Mr.  Wallet  came  Mr.  Brown,  who  dis- 
dained the  use  of  the  monkey-rope,  as  did  almost  all  of 
those  for  whose  benefit  it  was  intended.' Mr.  Wallet  and 
Mr.  Brown  were  to  be  engaged  in  cutting  the  head, 
tongue  and  jaw.  Mr.  Tilton  and  Mr.  Snow,  the  fifth  mate, 


76  SHE  BLOWS! 

the  little  man  of  prodigious  energy,  then  went  on.  Mr. 
Baker  did  no  cutting  on  this  whale,  probably  thinking 
that  enough  was  enough. 

The  body  of  a  dead  whale,  as  I  have  said,  floats  on  its 
side,  with  one  fin  uppermost.  Mr.  Tilton  and  Mr.  Snow 
went  to  work  at  once,  cutting  a  hole  clear  through  the 
blubber,  just  above  the  fin;  in  fact,  this  hole  was  so  near 
the  head  that  it  was  partly  through  the  "  white  horse," 
which  they  call  the  extremely  tough  layer  of  integuments 
surrounding  the  eye  and  most  of  the  head.  They  worked 
together,  and  the  spades  rose  and  fell  in  alternation,  one 
driving  his  spade  down  on  one  side,  then  the  other  driving 
down  his  spade  on  the  other  side,  as  two  axemen  cut  a 
scarf  in  a  tree.  Thus,  at  every  stroke,  there  was  a  V- 
shaped  piece  cut  out.  The  heavy  spade  is  almost  thrown 
at  the  place  where  the  cut  is  to  be  made,  with  great  accu- 
racy, and  the  scarf  progresses  with  surprising  speed. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Wallet  and  Mr.  Brown  were  busy,  cut- 
ting out  the  tongue.  Mr.  Wallet  found,  for  the  first  time 
in  his  career,  I  guessed,  that  he  had  a  working  partner 
whom  he  was  unable  to  hurry.  Mr.  Brown  matched  stroke 
for  stroke,  however  fast  Mr.  Wallet  worked;  and  his 
strokes  were  delivered  with  as  great  accuracy  as  Mr. 
Wallet's,  and  with  greater  force.  Remember  that  this  was 
the  first  chance  there  had  been  on  that  voyage  to  match 
powers.  I  saw  Mr.  Wallet  glance  up  with  annoyance,  and 
put  on  more  speed.  Mr.  Brown  met  the  increase  in  speed 
without  turning  a  hair.  Mr.  Wallet  nearly  doubled  his 
speed,  and  Mr.  Brown  again  met  it,  driving  his  spade  in 
with  greater  force  than  before.  I  had  never,  up  to  that 
time,  seen  a  stamp  mill,  but  I  saw  one  at  the  Centennial, 
after  my  return  from  that  voyage,  and  it  reminded  me  so 
exactly  of  Mr.  Wallet  and  Mr.  Brown,  cutting  out  that 
tongue,  that  I  stood  before  it,  and  laughed  aloud,  much  to 
the  astonishment  of  the  others  who  stood  there.  Both  the 
men  labored  and  sweated,  but  Mr.  Wallet  sweated  more, 
while  there  was  the  flicker  of  a  smile  on  Mr.  Brown's  lips. 


CUTTING-IN  77 

"  Too  fast  for  you  ?  "  Mr.  "Wallet  asked. 

"  Go  as  fast  as  you  like,"  said  Mr.  Brown. 

It  was  a  great  waste  of  energy,  and  too  much  of  a 
strain  for  Mr.  Wallet,  who  was  then  delivering  strokes  of 
his  spade  at  the  rate  of  fifty  or  more  a  minute,  while  the 
greatest  normal  rate  is  twelve  to  fifteen.  Mr.  Tilton  and 
Mr.  Snow  were  almost  convulsed  with  laughter,  so  that 
their  blows  fell  to  eight  or  less,  and  there  was  no  strength 
in  them.  I  heard  a  snicker  from  one  of  the  crew,  and  I 
could  not  forbear  a  snicker  of  my  own.  Mr.  Wallet  may 
not  have  heard  the  snickers;  he  affected  not  to,  but  he 
lowered  his  rate  at  once  to  fifteen  a  minute. 

They  finished  the  cut  on  that  side  of  the  tongue  before 
Mr.  Tilton  and  Mr.  Snow  had  quite  done  cutting  the  hole; 
and,  without  a  word,  Mr.  Wallet  transferred  his  attention 
to  the  uppermost  hinge  of  the  lower  jaw,  probably  rely- 
ing on  his  superior  knowledge  of  the  anatomy  of  the 
whale  to  enable  him  to  get  the  better  of  Mr.  Brown.  Mr. 
Wallet's  knowledge,  in  that  respect  —  and  in  that  respect 
alone,  as  far  as  I  was  ever  able  to  see  —  was  very  exact 
and  complete.  Mr.  Brown's,  however,  if  not  quite  equal  to 
Mr.  Wallet's,  was  sufficient  for  the  occasion,  and  they  fin- 
ished their  work  like  the  artists  they  were,  before  the 
fourth  and  fifth  mates  had  done  that  allotted  to  them. 

It  was  the  duty  of  these  men,  when  the  hole  was  cut, 
to  cut  a  semicircular  scarf,  or  deep  groove,  above  it,  and 
to  continue  this  scarf  at  each  end  of  the  semicircle,  down 
past  the  hole,  and  past  the  side  fin,  making  this  scarf  not 
perpendicular  to  the  axis  of  the  body,  but  slightly  in- 
clined to  it,  like  the  thread  of  a  screw.  The  rearmost 
scarf  —  that  toward  the  whale's  flukes  —  which  is  the 
only  one  which  is  continued  after  the  carcass  has  made 
one  revolution,  describes  a  spiral  about  the  carcass,  and 
the  blubber  unrolls  in  a  continuous  strip,  about  three  feet 
wide. 

The  neck  of  a  sperm  whale,  if  he  can  be  said  to  have 


78  SHE  BLOWS! 

a  neck,  is  about  the  thickest  part  of  him.  It  may  be  eleven 
or  twelve  feet  through,  or  even  more.  It  is  here  that  his 
head  is  to  be  cut  off,  and  the  junction  of  the  vertebra 
with  the  head  must  be^found  far  within  the  mass  of  flesh; 
found  very  exactly,  if  the  mate  is  to  make  a  good  clean 
job  of  it.  The  foremost  scarf,  if  the  cutting  has  been  done 
as  it  should  be  done,  marks  the  place  where  the  mate  must 
begin  his  cut  to  sever  the  head.  Mr.  Wallet,  having  paused 
ostentatiously,  for  the  purpose  of  showing  his  righteous 
annoyance  at  the  slowness  of  Mr.  Tilton  and  Mr.  Snow  — ■ 
they  did  not  seem  put  out  by  this  show  of  annoyance,  but 
amused  —  Mr.  Wallet,  I  say,  having  thrown  out  his  chest 
for  a  minute  or  two,  took  up  the  cutting  of  the  foremost 
scarf,  and  Mr.  Brown  joined  him  at  it.  The  cutting  was 
soon  done  as  far  down  as  the  men  could  get  at  it. 

Azevedo,  Mr.  Tilton's  boatsteerer,  was  then  lowered 
on  one  of  the  blocks  of  the  cutting- falls,  and  stepped  off 
upon  the  carcass.  He  had  woolen  socks  upon  his  feet,  I 
noticed.  I  noticed  this,  as  he  was  accustomed  to  go  bare- 
foot, as  were  the  crew  pretty  generally.  I  learned  that 
woolen  socks  were  supposed  to  give  him  a  surer  footing 
than  anything  else.  He  had  a  monkey-rope  also,  although 
he  would  have  gone  without  it  if  the  captain  would  let 
him;  but  if  he  slipped  in  between  the  whale  and  the  ship 
he  would  be  a  goner.  He  stood  or  stepped  about  on 
the  body  with  apparent  carelessness,  although  he  did  not 
let  go  his  hold  on  the  falls.  My  heart  was  in  my  mouth  for 
fear  that  he  would  slip  off  among  the  swarming  sharks, 
but  he  paid  no  attention  to  them,  except  to  push  aside  with 
his  foot  one  which  had  come  too  close.  He  had  had  long 
experience,  and  told  me  afterward  that  there  was  little  to 
fear  from  the  sharks  as  long  as  the  whale  was  there.  The 
gulls,  too,  and  other  scavengers  of  the  air,  had  gathered, 
and  there  was  a  wheeling,  screaming  flock  of  them  over  my 
head.  We  were  not  so  very  far  offshore. 

Attached  to  the  lower  end  of  the  cutting-falls  was  a 


THE  BLUBBER  79 

gigantic  iron  hook.  This  hook  Azevedo  fitted  into  the  hole 
cut  through  the  blubber.  The  blubber  of  a  whale  is  his 
skin,  a  peculiar  cellular  and  fibrous  structure  containing 
the  oil,  and  it  is  from  five  to  twelve  inches  thick,  vary- 
ing with  the  size  of  the  whale  and  the  place  on  his  body 
that  it  comes  from.  The  blubber  of  the  right  whale  is 
thicker.  It  is  thickest  on  the  back,  less  thick  on  the 
sides,  and  thinnest  on  his  belly.  On  the  shoulder  it  is 
very  tough.  Although  the  sea  was  not  high,  it  was  hard 
work  getting  the  hook  in  place,  and  Azevedo  grunted  and 
sweated  as  he  squatted  or  kneeled  on  one  knee  on  the  car- 
cass, and  the  seas  washed  over  his  legs  and  wet  him  to 
the  waist.  But  he  got  the  hook  in  place  at  last,  with  the 
help  of  a  long  knife.  Then  he  rose  to  his  feet,  holding  to 
the  falls  with  one  hand,  and  gave  the  word  to  heave. 

This  duty  of  the  boatsteerer  is  unpleasant  enough  at 
best,  but  when  the  sea  is  rough  I  have  seen  a  man  almost 
drowned  by  the  water  which  continually  swept  over  him. 
Under  such  conditions  the  enormous  hook  is  jerked  and 
swayed  by  the  roll  of  the  ship;  and  he  has  to  be  con- 
stantly on  the  lookout  that  the  heave  of  the  ship  and  the 
heave  of  the  whale,  which  usually  will  not  be  in  the  same 
direction  at  any  instant,  do  not  catch  him  between  them. 

Two  men  were  at  the  gangway,  to  steer  the  sheet  of 
blubber  —  called  the  blanket  piece  —  as  it  came  up,  and 
twenty  men  at  the  windlass.  When  Azevedo  gave  the 
word,  "  Haul  taut  and  heave  away,"  the  whole  twenty  of 
them  pumped  at  the  windlass,  which  clanked  merrily  at 
first,  then  more  slowly  as  the  falls  took  the  strain;  then 
more  slowly  still,  with  the  men  singing  out,  and  puffing 
and  grunting.  The  ship  slowly  heeled  over  toward  the 
whale.  Then,  suddenly,  there  was  a  ripping,  rending 
sound,  the  ship  righted  and  rolled  a  little,  and  there  was 
the  hook  with  the  end  of  the  blanket  piece  of  blubber  in 
the  air,  clear  of  the  carcass,  which  had  turned  part  way 
over  in  the  bight  of  the  fluke-chain.  I  may  not  have  said 


80  SHE  BLOWS! 

that  the  body  is  held  by  a  loop  or  bight  of  heavy  chain 
at  the  "  small,"  just  forward  of  his  flukes,  so  that  it  will 
turn  freely.  In  addition  to  this  there  is  a  chain  about  the 
lower  jaw  at  first,  but  that,  of  course,  does  not  hold  the 
carcass  after  the  jaw  is  cut  off,  which  is  one  of  the  earli- 
est operations. 

Mr.  Tilton  and  Mr.  Snow  continued  cutting  the  rear 
scarf,  Mr.  Brown  kept  at  the  forward  scarf,  or  necklace, 
where  the  head  was  to  be  cut  off,  and  Mr.  Wallet  again 
attacked  the  tongue  and  the  other  hinge  of  the  jaw  as  the 
turning  of  the  carcass  gave  him  opportunity.  The  heavy 
strip  of  blubber  rose  slowly  as  the  crew  pumped  at  the 
windlass,  and  the  spades  of  the  mates  rose  and  fell  regu- 
larly. The  tongue  and  the  jaw  were  hoisted  in  by  the  sec- 
ond cutting- falls.  That  jaw  looked  enormous  as  it  came  in 
over  the  side.  When  the  tackle  was  tight  up,  block  to 
block,  it  was  not  quite  clear  of  the  gangway,  and  they  had 
to  swing  the  other  end  around,  and  heave  it  in.  When  it 
was  on  deck,  it  was  pushed  over  into  the  port  scuppers, 
out  of  the  way.  They  then  resumed  work  upon  the  blanket 
piece  of  blubber,  the  work  of  cutting  off  the  head  being 
carried  forward  at  the  same  time. 

The  blanket  strip  was  soon  high  in  the  air,  the  falls 
block  to  block.  The  steady  clanking  of  the  windlass 
stopped,  and  the  men  had  a  breathing  spell  of  a  few  min- 
utes, as  Mr.  Baker  called  "  Chock-a-block.  Board  blanket 
piece." 

Mr.  Tilton  stood  at  the  gangway  with  a  boarding-knife 
in  his  hands,  and  took  the  attitude  of  a  man  about  to  take 
part  in  a  bayonet  charge.  That  was  virtually  what  he  did. 
The  boarding-knife  is  a  sword-like  blade,  nearly  straight, 
thirty  inches  long,  and  it  is  fixed  in  the  end  of  a  stout 
wooden  handle,  about  three  feet  long.  With  this  formid- 
able weapon  Mr.  Tilton  made  violent  lunges  and  plunges 
at  the  strip  of  blubber  just  above  the  break  of  the  gang- 
way, and  soon  had  a  hole  through  it.  Through  this  hole 


THE  BLUBBER  81 

an  "  eye-strop  "  —  a  loop  of  heavy  rope,  through  one  end 
of  which  the  blubber-hook  passes  —  was  passed,  and  its 
oak  toggle  pounded  into  place  on  the  other  side  and 
lashed,  to  make  its  hold  on  the  blubber  secure. 

Meanwhile  the  fall  of  the  first  tackle  had  been  secured 
and  the  strain  put  on  the  second  tackle.  There  are  two 
drums  on  the  windlass,  and  one  fall  leads  to  each  drum. 
The  man  with  the  boarding-knife  again  attacked 
the  strip  of  blubber,  this  time  a  little  above  the  hole, 
and  by  a  series  of  stabs  and  slashes  he  cut  it  across, 
and  the  upper  piece  swung  in  over  the  open  hatch,  and 
was  lowered  to  the  blubber  room,  where  it  was  stowed,  the 
outside  —  "  black  skin,"  as  it  is  called  —  down.  This  pro- 
ceeding surprised  me,  for  I  had  supposed,  without  giving 
the  matter  any  thought,  that  it  would  be  dumped  upon  the 
deck  and  cut  up  there.  I  did  not  know  what  a  mountain  of 
blubber  it  would  make,  and  the  deck  well  cluttered  up  with 
the  jaw  and  the  junk  and  the  small,  as  you  will  see.  One 
or  two  of  the  last  strips  of  blubber  they  did  dump  there. 
My  surprise,  I  found,  was  justified  somewhat.  No  more 
blubber  is  put  between  decks  than  is  necessary  to  pro- 
vide working  space  on  deck.  A  big  whale  can  be  tried 
out  in  thirty-six  hours,  and  it  would  only  mean  hoisting 
out  almost  immediately.  But  in  this  case  there  was  a 
threat  of  rain,  and  rain  spoils  blubber. 

The  cutting-in  proceeded  rapidly.  Mr.  Wallet  and  Mr. 
Brown  were  engaged  upon  various  dissections  of  the  head 
at  the  same  time  that  the  blanket  piece  was  being  stripped 
off,  and  from  time  to  time  there  were  interruptions  in  the 
regular  progress  of  the  blanket  pieces  to  enable  them  to 
finish  certain  stages  of  the  operation  in  the  order  that 
has  been  found  to  be  proper.  It  is  necessary  that  the  head 
should  be  dissected  into  its  parts  and  cut  off  before  the 
stripping  of  the  blanket  pieces  has  gone  very  far.  This  is 
the  most  important  operation  in  cutting-in,  as  the  head 
of  the  sperm  whale  contains  the  most  valuable  of  his 
products. 


CHAPTER  IX 

The  head  of  the  sperm  whale,  as  seen  from  the  side,  is 
roughly  rectangular  in  outline,  with  an  exaggerated  up- 
per jaw  which  seems  out  of  all  manner  of  proportion  to 
the  lower.  In  large  whales  the  height  of  the  square  fore- 
head or  nose  is  eleven  to  thirteen  feet,  and  the  width  of  it 
nine  to  eleven  feet,  while  the  lower  jaw  is  slender  and 
pointed.  This  exaggeration  of  the  upper  part  of  the  head 
does  not  argue  anything  in  regard  to  the  size  of  the  brain, 
as  might  naturally  be  supposed.  The  brain  is  placed  in  a 
normal  position  in  regard  to  the  eye,  which  is  a  little 
above  and  behind  the  angle  of  the  mouth,  and  appears  to 
be  set  too  low  down  in  the  head. 

All  of  this  huge  upper  part  of  the  head  is  nothing  but 
an  excrescence:  a  tough,  fibrous  or  fatty  matter,  in  which 
there  can  be  little  feeling  if  there  is  any.  Whales  some- 
times ram  ships,  striking  them  with  that  upper  part  of  the 
head  or  nose  —  and  sink  them,  too  —  and  swim  raging  off, 
apparently  little  the  worse  for  the  encounter.  There  are 
some  well-authenticated  cases  which  I  cannot  be  expected 
to  remember,  for  they  happened  many  years  before  I  was 
born.  I  refer  especially  to  the  cases  of  the  Ann  Alexander 
and  the  Essex,  which  were  sunk  by  whales,  and  there  have 
been  others.  There  is  no  doubt  about  it,  although  the  fact 
has  been  doubted  by  a  good  many  people  who  knew  noth- 
ing about  whales.  You  would  never  have  found  a  whale- 
man who  doubted  it.  I  know  of  one  case,  at  least,  which 
occurred  well  within  my  recollection.  The  Kathleen  was 
sunk  by  a  whale  in  1902,  several  hundred  miles  from  land, 
and  the  crew  took  to  the  boats,  cheerfully  enough,  I  do 
not  doubt,  with  the  prospect  before  them  of  a  voyage 
of   over  a  week  at   the  very  least,  and   possibly  two  or 


THE  CASE  AND  THE  JUNK  83 

three.  The  master  of  the  Kathleen  lived  within  a  block 
of  me.  His  wife  was  on  that  voyage,  with  her  parrot, 
which  lived  to  tell  the  tale.  These  same  Bolshevik  whales 
can  carry  timbers,  from  the  bows  of  ships  which  they 
have  sunk,  embedded  in  their  heads  for  years  without 
apparent  inconvenience. 

However,  the  primary  purpose  of  that  exaggeration  of 
the  upper  jaw  is  not  to  serve  as  a  battering  ram.  In  the 
upper  part  of  that  great  growth  is  a  well  of  the  purest 
oil  extending  very  nearly  the  length  of  the  head.  This 
is  called  the  "  case."  Just  what  its  purpose  is  nobody 
seems  to  know,  although  there  have  been  many  guesses. 
One  of  these  guesses  is  that  the  well  of  oil  helps  to  float 
the  heavy  head;  but  this  guess  can  hardly  be  right,  for 
the  head,  when  severed,  immediately  turns,  with  the 
spiracle,  or  blow-hole,  down. 

Between  the  case  and  the  skull  lies  the  "  junk,"  of  still 
tougher  material  than  the  case,  but  containing  consider- 
able oil,  although  it  is  not  contained  in  a  single  well.  The 
cells  of  the  junk  are  from  four  to  eight  inches  across, 
filled  with  faintly  yellow  oil,  or  oily  substance,  which  is 
translucent  when  warm.  The  walls  of  these  cells  are  com- 
posed of  extremely  tough,  interlacing  fibres,  or  ligaments, 
called  "  white  horse."  The  separation  of  the  junk  from  the 
case  is  on  a  very  nearly  horizontal  line  running  through 
the  nose  just  above  the  bump  —  or  what  looks  like  a 
bump.  The  contents  of  the  case  seem  to  be  liquid  during 
the  life  of  the  whale,  but  after  the  body  becomes  cold, 
they  become  partly  solid.  The  solid  part  is  spermaceti. 

The  skull,  if  separated  from  the  excrescence,  bears 
some  resemblance  to  the  head  of  an  alligator,  and  the  eye 
seems  to  be  set  right  enough.  This  separation  of  the  head 
into  its  parts  was  what  Mr.  Wallet  and  Mr.  Brown  were 
proceeding  to  accomplish.  While  they  were  cutting  the 
case  from  the  junk,  Macy  and  George  Hall,  boat-steerers 
for  the  first  and  second  mates,  rove  ropes  in  each  cheek 


84  SHE  BLOWS! 

for  the  chains  which  were  to  hold  the  case.  When  the  sep- 
aration was  complete,  the  case  was  passed  astern,  held  by 
chains,  nose  down  in  the  water,  until  the  cutting-in  should 
be  finished  and  the  carcass  cut  adrift.  The  junk  was  then 
cut  away  from  the  skull  and  hoisted  bodily  on  deck.  Dur- 
ing the  operation  of  cutting  the  junk  from  the  skull,  they 
cut  alongside  and  close  to  the  skull,  and  as  they  could  not 
see  what  they  were  cutting,  but  had  to  go  by  feeling,  there 
were  several  spades  spoiled.  The  cutters  passed  these 
dulled  spades  in  on  deck,  and  freshly  sharpened  spades 
were  passed  to  them.  I  heard  the  noise  of  the  grindstone 
during  the  whole  operation. 

They  were  a  long  time  in  cutting  the  junk  and  the  case, 
and  there  was  nothing  to  see  except  the  swarming  sharks, 
and  I  got  tired  of  seeing  the  spades  rise  and  fall  out  of 
sight  in  that  mass  of  flesh,  so  I  turned  away.  Unfortu- 
nately Mr.  Baker  chanced  to  see  me,  and  suggested,  in 
unnecessarily  vigorous  language,  that  if  I  had  nothing 
else  to  do  I  had  better  turn  the  grindstone.  I  thought  it 
best  to  humor  him,  so  I  went  over  to  that  device  of  the 
devil,  and  found  Black  Tony  sharpening  spades  and  Black 
Man'el  turning  for  him. 

Man'el  looked  up.  "  What  you  want,  little  Tim  ?  "  he 
asked,  grinning. 

"  Mr.  Baker  told  me  to  turn  the  grindstone,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"  Aw,  you  go  'way  f 'om  here,"  said  Man'el,  his  grin 
widening.  "  I  turn  for  Tony.  You  could  n't  turn  well 
enough.  Nice  place  over  there,"  he  went  on,  nodding  his 
head  sidewise  toward  the  port  rail.  "  Mr.  Baker  won't 
see  you." 

He  looked  up  at  Tony,  who  nodded  in  confirmation,  and 
I  found  an  inconspicuous  place  against  the  rail,  on  the 
side  away  from  the  cutting.  Here  I  stood,  and  looked  out 
over  a  gentle  sea.  The  sun  was  high,  and  it  was  pleasantly 
warm,  and  the  oily  smell  from  the  cutting-in  was  not  dis- 


THE  SMALL  85 

agreeable,  although  I  was  to  leeward  and  got  it  all.  The 
sounds  of  the  men  pumping  at  the  windlass,  and  the  mates 
on  the  cutting-stage,  and  the  noise  of  an  occasionally 
shouted  order,  sounded  more  and  more  faintly  in  my  ears 
until  they  ceased  to  carry  their  message  to  my  brain.  I 
heard  only  the  screams  of  the  seabirds  wheeling  above  me, 
and  I  saw  a  glittering  sea  which  danced  before  my  half- 
closed  eyes. 

How  long  I  remained  in  this  hypnotic  state,  between 
sleeping  and  waking,  I  do  not  know;  but  I  was  suddenly 
aroused  by  a  shout,  and  turned,  to  see  what  seemed  to  be 
a  blackfish  come  sliding  across  the  deck,  straight  at  me. 
It  was  the  small.  The  explanation  is  simple,  although  I  did 
not  know  it  at  the  time.  As  they  approach  the  small  in 
unrolling  the  blanket  piece,  it  comes  harder  and  harder, 
for  the  forward  end  of  the  carcass  has  no  support  except 
the  strip  of  blubber  to  which  the  hook  of  the  cutting-falls 
is  fast,  and  the  raw,  red  shoulders  hang  low  in  the  water, 
so  that  it  is  hard  to  turn  them  over.  When  the  small  is 
reached,  therefore,  the  carcass  is  cut  clean  through,  and 
the  forward  end  sent  adrift,  accompanied  by  the  shoal  of 
silent  sharks  and  the  swarming  seabirds.  The  flukes  are 
then  cut  off,  and  the  small  hoisted  bodily  in  upon  deck. 

My  only  thought,  if  I  had  a  thought,  was  to  get  out  of 
the  way  of  this  slippery  black  monster.  I  jumped  away 
from  my  place,  which  seemed  to  be  its  destined  resting- 
place,  the  next  jump  being  as  far  into  the  future  as  I  had 
time  to  look.  The  deck  was  now  a  perilous  place  to  make 
your  way  about  on,  lumbered  up  as  it  was  with  the  jaw 
and  the  junk,  and  the  last  blanket  piece  of  blubber,  which 
lay  pretty  well  across  it,  beside  the  open  hatch;  and  it 
was  covered  with  oil,  as  was  the  gangway  and  the  rail 
near  it.  I  had  no  time  to  consider  or  to  measure  chances. 
I  went  skipping  lightly  from  floe  to  floe,  like  Eliza  fleeing 
from  the  bloodhounds;  and  I  stepped  upon  the  piece  of 
blubber  innocently  lying  there,  meaning  to  spring  across 


86  SHE  BLOWS! 

the  hatch.  It  looked  firm,  and  there  was  nowhere  else  to 
step  without  running  into  something,  and  I  was  on  my 
way  and  I  could  not  stop.  It  did  not  look  so  very  slippery. 
But  it  was  slippery, .and  it  was  not  firm;  and  my  foot 
slipped,  and  the  piece  of  blubber  tipped  just  enough  to 
shoot  me  down  the  open  hatch. 

As  I  went  down,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  an  astonished 
brown  face,  in  the  comparative  darkness  of  the  blubber 
room,  gazing  with  mouth  hanging  open,  and  wide  eyes. 
Then  I  landed,  sitting  down,  on  the  other  pieces  of  blub- 
ber, which  the  owner  of  the  brown  face  had  been  stowing. 
I  struggled  about  there  in  the  half  darkness  for  some  time 
before  I  could  get  upon  my  feet.  I  had  no  help  from  the 
Kanaka  Tom.  I  thought  he  would  have  a  fit.  He  fairly 
shrieked  with  laughter  until  he  could  not  stand,  to  say 
nothing  of  helping  me.  The  pieces  of  blubber  slipped 
about  and  threw  me  again  and  again,  and  when  I  finally 
managed  to  get  up,  I  seemed  to  have  been  swimming  in 
oil.  My  clothes  were  soaked  with  it.  I  had  managed  to 
keep  my  face  and  hair  out  of  it,  but  that  was  about  all. 

I  heard  great  shouts  of  laughter  from  the  deck,  but  I 
did  not  mind,  for  it  was  funny.  It  would  have  been  fun- 
nier for  them  if  they  could  all  have  seen  me  wrestling 
with  the  blubber.  I  found  myself  grinning  as  soon  as  I 
had  got  over  the  immediate  effects  of  my  struggle.  I 
grinned  at  the  helpless  Tom.  My  clothes  were  not  uncom- 
fortable, but  they  were  hopelessly  spoiled  for  any  other 
use  than  an  oily  one. 

When  I  got  on  deck  again  —  I  took  good  care  to  be  aft 
of  the  hatch,  and  stood  under  the  gallows  by  the  mainmast 
—  they  were  shifting  the  case  forward,  so  that  it  should 
be  near  the  gangway.  A  whip  was  already  rigged  at  the 
main  yardarm,  which  was  braced  forward.  Every  few  sec- 
onds one  of  the  crew  caught  sight  of  me  standing  there 
in  my  oily  clothes,  and  he  whooped  and  shouted  with 
laughter.  I  was  not  sensitive  about  such  tilings,  and  I 


BLACK  TONY  87 

grinned  in  return.  The  Admiral  and  Black  Man'el  were 
the  most  affected  by  the  sight  of  me,  the  Admiral  letting 
out  such  a  whoop  as  would  have  scared  away  all  the 
whales  within  ten  miles.  Even  Black  Tony,  who  rarely 
smiled  and  never  laughed,  but  was  always  dignified  and  as 
stiff  and  straight  as  a  poker,  could  not  help  smiling. 

Black  Tony  should  have  been  an  officer  of  the  high 
command  in  some  army.  He  looked  the  part,  lean,  straight, 
and  tall,  dignified  always,  and  silent  and  reserved,  the 
only  thing  out  of  keeping  being  his  thin  gold  earrings, 
and  perhaps  his  color.  I  think  all  the  other  men  looked 
up  to  him,  even  the  mates,  in  a  way;  but  he  was  not  even 
a  boatsteerer.  Certainly  few  attempts  were  made  to  play 
upon  him  any  of  the  rough  jokes  of  sailors.  I  remember 
once,  when  we  were  on  the  Western  grounds,  which  are  to 
the  westward  of  the  Azores,  in  the  middle  of  the  Atlantic 
Ocean,  some  poor  fool  did  try  a  practical  joke  on  him. 

The  case  was  now  at  the  gangway,  and  there  was  no 
more  chance  for  shouts  of  merriment  on  the  part  of  the 
crew,  for  they  were  again  at  the  windlass,  swaying  up  on 
the  cutting-tackles,  which  had  been  hooked  on  to  the  case. 
They  could  do  very  little  with  it,  however,  no  matter  how 
hard  they  pumped.  The  ship  heeled  over  toward  it,  and 
there  it  stuck,  and  there  it  was  secured,  the  upper,  open 
end  about  on  a  level  with  the  deck. 

The  case-bucket  was  then  made  fast  to  the  line  run- 
ning through  the  block  at  the  yardarm.  The  case-bucket 
looks  not  unlike  an  old-fashioned  fire-bucket  with  a  bulg- 
ing bottom,  except  that  old  fire-buckets  were  made  of 
leather,  and  the  case-bucket  was  of  wood,  bound  about 
with  as  many  hoops  as  the  old  oaken  bucket.  Wright  took 
his  place  at  the  gangway,  with  a  wooden  pole  in  his  hands 
nearly  twenty  feet  long.  With  this  pole  he  pushed  the 
bucket  down,  and  a  bucketful  of  the  mushy  contents  of 
the  case,  consisting  of  oil  and  shreds  of  half-solidified 
spermaceti,  plopped  into  it.  It  was  then  drawn  up  by  men 


88  SHE  BLOWS! 

on  the  other  end  of  the  line,  and  emptied  into  a  butt. 
As  many  men  as  could  get  at  the  open  end  of  the  well  of 
oil  were  bailing  with  anything  they  could  lay  their  hands 
to,  the  long-handled  Copper  dippers  for  dipping  oil  out 
of  the  try-pots,  buckets,  tin  pails  without  long  handles. 
When  the  level  of  oil  was  lowered,  the  dippers  without 
long  handles  became  useless,  of  course,  but  the  copper 
dippers  could  be  used  for  some  time.  When  these  came 
up  nearly  empty  the  case-bucket  worked  alone. 

At  last  the  long  pole  in  Wright's  hands  had  been 
pushed  down  for  nearly  its  whole  length,  to  the  bottom 
of  the  well  and  the  case-bucket  would  bring  up  no  more 
oil.  There  was  still  some  at  the  bottom  of  the  well,  how- 
ever, and  Black  Man'el,  stripped  to  a  ragged  old  pair  of 
overalls,  went  down  with  the  bucket.  He  disappeared  in 
the  black  cavern.  We  could  see  nothing  of  him,  but  the 
bucket  made  more  than  one  trip  before  it  brought  him  up 
again.  He  was  a  sight  to  see,  dripping  oil  everywhere,  his 
tightly  curling  hair  full  of  it  and  of  soft,  silky  shreds  of 
spermaceti.  I  laughed  at  him,  saying  that  it  was  my  turn 
to  laugh;  but  he  only  showed  all  his  white  teeth,  replying 
that  he  liked  it,  and  that  the  oil  kept  him  warm  and 
"  soopled  "  him,  and  recommending  it  to  me.  I  could  un- 
derstand that  it  might  be  pleasant  to  bathe  in  oil,  in  case- 
oil,  for  it  had  an  agreeable  smell,  faintly  like  that  of  milk 
as  it  foams  in  the  buckets ;  but  I  could  not  have  stood  get- 
ting my  hair  full  of  it. 

As  Man'el  came  up  from  his  oil  bath,  I  heard  laughter 
behind  me,  and  other  sounds  of  merriment  and  gaiety,  and 
I  turned  to  see  the  cause.  There  was  the  small,  froiu 
which  the  blubber  had  been  stripped,  lying  raw  and 
ghastly.  Some  half-dozen  men  were  gathered  behind  it,  on 
the  side  away  from  the  gangway,  and  as  I  looked,  they 
began  to  push.  It  was  like  a  game  of  push-ball,  with  the 
raw,  red  small  of  a  whale  for  the  ball;  too  heavy  to  be 


BAILING  CASE 


HORSE-PLAY  89 

much  like  the  real  push-ball,  of  which,  of  course,  I  had 
never  heard  at  that  time.  Nobody  had  heard  of  it  in  1872. 
The  ship  was  rolling  gently,  and  while  they  had  to  push 
uphill  they  made  little  or  no  progress,  but  when  she  rolled 
to  starboard,  the  small  got  to  going  pretty  fast.  The  deck 
was  slippery,  and  each  man  was  pushing  as  hard  as  he 
could  for  his  chuckling,  hoping,  I  supposed,  to  swing  it 
around  so  that  it  would  not  go  out  of  the  gangway,  for 
which  it  was  aimed. 

In  that  purpose  they  were  successful.  The  small 
struck  hard  against  one  of  the  stanchions  at  the  corner  of 
the  opening,  swung  around,  and  as  the  ship  rolled  back, 
it  started  for  the  port  rail,  knocking  a  man  down.  Then 
the  laughter  bubbled  forth,  led  by  the  blacks  and  the 
Kanakas.  I  had  some  fear  that  the  sliding  small  might 
break  out  the  rail  on  the  port  side;  but  the  jaw  was  there, 
and  the  men  collected  strength  enough  to  stop  the  slide, 
although  it  carried  very  nearly  across  the  deck.  The  disci- 
pline was  not  strict,  for  it  does  no  harm  to  have  a  laugh- 
ing crew;  but  the  pushing  rapidly  developed  into  horse- 
play. Then  Mr.  Brown  stopped  it  with  a  curt  word,  and 
the  men  fell  to  very  industriously,  but  their  faces  were 
merry  still,  and  gushes  of  laughter  bubbled  out  now  and 
then.  At  the  next  roll  of  the  ship,  the  small  shot  from  the 
gangway  as  from  a  catapult,  and  into  the  water  nearly  a 
couple  of  fathoms  from  the  side  with  a  tremendous 
splash,  which  wet  the  men  at  the  gangway. 

Of  course  it  had  to  be  Mr.  Brown  who  stopped  that 
horse-play,  and  I  felt  an  admiration  for  his  way  of  doing 
it,  with  two  or  three  words,  although  I  did  not  hear  what 
he  said.  Mr.  Baker  would  have  stopped  it  sooner  and  more 
violently.  I  think  the  men  were  all  afraid  of  Mr.  Baker, 
which  was,  no  doubt,  the  feeling  which  he  wished  to  in- 
spire. As  for  Mr.  Wallet,  he  could  not  have  done  it  in  a 
thousand  years,  and  it  would  never  have  occurred  to  him 


90  SHE  BLOWS! 

to  try;  but  Mr.  Brown  stopped  it  at  just  the  right  point, 
and  left  the  men  feeling  gay  and  high-spirited.  The  whole 
thing,  while  unimporttint  in  itself,  showed  the  feeling  of 
the  men  toward  our  third  mute,  and  his  way  of  dealing 
with  them. 


CHAPTER  X 

The  cutting-in  was  over  by  the  middle  of  the  afternoon, 
for  that  first  whale  of  ours  was  not  very  large.  If  our 
windlass  had  been  as  powerful  as  modern  windlasses,  we 
should  have  been  able  to  get  the  case  —  or  even  the  whole 
head  —  bodily  on  deck,  and  to  get  at  the  oil  within  it 
more  quickly  and  completely.  The  holds  of  the  cutting- 
falls  had  been  cut  away,  and  the  empty  case  had  drifted 
astern,  sinking  slowly  as  it  went;  the  junk  had  been 
emptied  of  its  oil,  the  pure,  sweet  oil  following  the  spades 
at  every  cut;  and  men  were  already  busy  with  squeezing 
out  the  shreds  of  spermaceti  from  the  case-matter,  two 
men  to  a  tub.  These  men  seemed  to  be  in  no  hurry,  and  to 
find  their  task  pleasant.  I  was  naturally  curious,  as  a  boy 
should  be,  and  I  plunged  my  hand  into  a  tub  of  it.  I  found 
it  to  be  an  exceedingly  pleasant  unguent,  and  the  half- 
solidified  spermaceti  infinitely  soothing  to  hands  that  were 
cut  and  scraped,  bruised  and  chapped.  I  understood  —  or 
I  thought  I  understood  —  the  leisurely  way  in  which  the 
men  were  working,  although  this  work  cannot  be  done  in 
a  hurry  and  done  well.  If  the  spermaceti  is  not  taken  out 
pretty  completely,  it  chars  in  the  try-pots,  and  darkens 
the  oil,  which  lessens  its  value.  Head  oil  is  the  lightest  in 
color,  and  the  most  valuable,  and  it  is  always  kept  sepa- 
rate. 

Our  mainyards  were  now  aback,  the  mainsail  furled, 
the  topsails  reefed,  and  the  ship  made  very  little  way, 
rolling  slowly  on  a  drift  to  leeward.  Some  of  the  crew 
had  cleaned  out  the  try-works,  taking  out  the  odds  and 
ends  and  trash  with  which  the  pots  were  filled,  and  had 
laid  a  fire  under  them.  Wood  was  used  for  this  first  fire, 
but  after  the  first  lot  of  blubber  has  been  tried  out,  the 


92  SHE  BLOWS! 

scraps  or  "  fritters  "  —  blubber  from  which  the  oil  has 
been  tried,  and  which  are  fried  crisp  —  are  used  for  feed- 
ing the  fire.  They  barn  well  and  fiercely,  with  a  huge  vol- 
ume of  nauseous  black  smoke.  The  scraps  remaining  from 
one  trying-out  are  kept  to  start  the  fire  on  the  next  oc- 
casion. 

The  trying-out  started  on  the  head-matter,  in  order  to 
keep  the  oil  from  contamination,  and  to  preserve  its  light 
color.  Meanwhile  there  were  two  men  in  the  blubber  room 
with  knife  and  spade  to  cut  from  the  blubber  the  pieces 
of  flesh  that  had  come  off  with  it.  They  then  cut  the 
blanket  strips  into  smaller  pieces,  roughly  rectangular. 
These  "  horse-pieces,"  as  they  are  called,  were  cut  all  the 
way  across  the  blanket,  and  about  six  or  eight  inches 
wide;  so  that,  in  this  case,  they  were  strips,  about  three 
feet  long  and  eight  inches  wide.  They  are  sometimes  not  so 
long.  In  cutting  the  horse-pieces,  the  men  generally  stood 
on  the  strip  in  their  bare  feet,  and  cut  it  with  a  sharp 
spade  held  vertically.  I  knew  how  slippery  those  strips 
of  blubber  could  be,  and  I  trembled  for  fear  that,  on  that 
unstable  footing,  the  sharp  spade  might  fall  on  the  wrong 
spot  and  cut  off  a  few  of  those  wriggling  toes,  or  even  a 
foot.  It  would  be  easy.  The  spade  was  sharp  and  heavy, 
and  a  man  might  cut  off  his  toes  before  he  knew  it;  but 
I  saw  no  such  accident,  either  then  or  later,  although  I 
believe  it  was  not  uncommon.  The  men  did  not  seem  to  be 
afraid  of  accidents. 

When  the  blubber  had  been  cut  this  way,  the  "  horse- 
pieces  "  were  tossed  on  deck  and  taken  to  the  mincers.  The 
mincers  were  men  —  usually  two  —  who  wielded  heavy, 
two-handled  knives  about  two  feet  long,  with  a  handle  at 
each  end;  the  knives  being  a  sort  of  a  cross  between  a 
butcher's  cleaver  and  a  carpenter's  draw-knife,  or  more 
nearly,  perhaps,  a  cleaver  with  a  handle  at  each  end.  The 
mincers  work  against  the  end  of  a  heavy  block,  or  horse,  at 
the  height  of  their  belts  —  if  they  happen  to  have  belts  — 


TRYING-OUT  93 

and  chop  and  slice  the  flesh  side  of  the  blubber,  with  a 
peculiar  rolling  motion  of  the  heavy  knife.  The  mincer 
used  both  hands  to  hold  his  mincing-knife,  while  a  second 
man  held  the  horse-piece  on  the  block.  The  flesh  side  of 
the  blubber  is  cut  in  this  way  into  thin  strips,  resembling 
strips  of  bacon,  leaving  the  outside,  or  black  skin,  intact. 
These  are  called  "  bible-leaves,"  and  are  ready  for  the 
try-pots. 

There  was  a  pair  of  try-pots  set  in  brickwork  just  abaft 
the  foremast,  with  room  to  work  for  the  men  tending 
them.  These  men  stand  forward  of  the  try-works.  As  I 
have  said  before,  there  was  a  roof,  or  house,  over  them,  as 
is  usually,  but  not  always,  the  case.  The  fire-space  under- 
neath was  separated  from  the  deck  by  a  low  platform 
which  projected  some  distance  beyond  the  fire-doors,  and 
this  platform  had  under  it  a  tank,  which  was  always  filled 
with  water  when  the  fire  was  burning,  to  protect  the  deck. 
The  fire-doors  were  in  the  forward  side  of  the  try-works. 
They  were  of  iron,  and  could  be  slid  back  or  swung  up- 
ward. Two  —  three,  if  there  are  three  try-pots  —  smoke- 
stacks of  copper,  and  of  rectangular  section,  projected  a 
little  way  above  the  roof. 

I  have  given  these  details  of  the  arrangements  because 
I  know  that  there  are  now  comparatively  few  people  who 
are  familiar  with  them;  in  fact,  there  are  none  except 
whalemen  and  outfitters,  and  men  and  boys  who  have 
been  in  the  habit  of  running  over  the  ships  at  will.  Even 
the  boys  of  that  last  class,  if  there  are  still  any  such,  are 
probably  not  as  familiar  with  the  arrangements  as  they 
ought  to  be,  although  they  may  think  they  are.  I  had  seen 
whalers  since  I  could  remember,  and  had  rambled  over 
them,  and  played  on  them  and  beside  them  throughout 
my  boyhood,  but  I  had  never  given  a  thought  to  the  ques- 
tion whether  the  fire  was  fed  from  aft  or  from  forward  of 
the  try-works.  I  suppose  I  should  have  said  that  the  doors 
opened  aft.  Somehow,  that  seemed  the  natural  way  —  for 


94  SHE  BLOWS! 

the  men  to  face  the  bows  as  they  work.  It  is  not,  as  it 
happens.  Just  aft  of  the  try-works  was  the  bench,  with  a 
vise  and  other  "  fixins,"  where  repairs  were  made  on  the 
harpoons  and  lances  and  pretty  nearly  everything  else. 

Remembering  my  mistakes  —  some  of  them  —  I  am  not 
inclined  to  be  so  severe  upon  the  men  of  Atlantic  City  as 
some  whalemen  are.  A  whaleship  went  ashore  upon  those 
hospitable  sands,  and  they  took  her  as  she  was,  high  and 
dry  on  the  beach,  and  they  repaired  her,  and  fitted  her 
completely,  as  they  supposed,  and  used  her  as  one  more 
exhibition  —  one  more  attraction  for  the  crowds  which 
throng  the  Boardwalk.  I  can  imagine  them;  I  can  even 
see  them  coming  in  crowds,  at  ten  or  fifteen  cents  a  head, 
to  go  over  the  whaler  —  the  "  spouter,"  as  I  have  no  doubt 
they  called  her,  although  I  rarely  heard  the  term  used 
among  whalemen.  But,  on  one  day  of  ill-fortune,  there 
chanced  to  be  a  whaleman  in  that  crowd.  He  looked  criti- 
cally over  the  old  ship,  saying  nothing;  and  he  found  that 
they  had  made  the  try-works  face  the  wrong  way,  putting 
the  fire-doors  aft  instead  of  in  the  forward  side.  He 
smiled,  I  do  not  doubt,  but  still  he  said  nothing  —  in  At- 
lantic City.  When  he  got  home,  however,  it  was  a  different 
thing,  and  the  matter  was  spread  abroad  in  New  Bedford, 
and  it  got  into  the  papers,  which  had  no  end  of  fun  with 
the  poor,  ignorant  Atlantic  Citizens.  Occasionally  it  crops 
out  yet  in  the  "  Mercury "  or  the  "  Standard."  They 
simply  cannot  resist  giving  the  natives  of  New  Jersey  a 
poke  now  and  then. 

I  can  hardly  expect  readers  of  this  rambling  narrative 
to  be  better  versed  in  such  matters  than  those  men  of  At- 
lantic City.  In  order  that  they  may  not  be  in  a  state  of 
chaotic  ignorance  in  regard  to  them,  I  have  dwelt  on  the 
details  to  a  degree  which  most  whalemen  would  think  un- 
necessary and  an  insult  to  their  intelligence.  They  would 
take  all  these  things  for  granted. 

The  mates  and  boatsteerers    officiate  at    the  try-pots, 


TRYING-OUT  95 

and  handle  the  long-handled,  long-shanked  devil-forks,  or 
the  skimmers,  or  the  copper  dippers.  They  began  with  the 
head-matter,  for  reasons  which  I  have  given.  When  this 
was  cooked  enough,  it  was  ladled  out  of  the  try-pots  with 
the  long-handled  copper  dippers  that  I  have  mentioned, 
and  into  the  copper  cooling-tank  which  stood  beside  the 
try-pots.  From  the  cooling-tank  the  oil  overflows  into  a 
huge  iron  pot.  From  this,  in  turn,  it  is  again  dipped,  and 
put  into  casks,  or  barrels,  marked  "  Head  "  or  "  Case  " 
or  "  Junk." 

I  did  not  see  this  last  operation  at  this  time,  however. 
My  duties  lay  mostly  in  the  cabin  and  the  steerage,  with 
the  officers  and  boatsteerers,  and  I  had  to  go  when  I  was 
called,  or  before  if  I  had  sense  enough  for  it.  I  was  ex- 
pected to  be  on  hand  at  meal  times,  or  a  little  before,  and 
help  the  steward.  It  was  now  about  supper-time,  and  I 
was  so  interested  in  the  process  of  trying-out  that  the 
steward  had  to  send  for  me,  or  come  for  me,  which  did 
not  improve  his  temper.  I  am  afraid  that  I  skimped  my 
duties  much  of  the  time,  but  a  boy  of  fifteen  has  no  great 
sense  of  responsibility.  Captain  Nelson  was  indulgent  to 
me  up  to  a  certain  point,  but  he  had  to  give  me  a  wigging 
more  than  once.  I  deserved  the  wigging,  and  I  knew  it 
well,  and  was  always  respectful  and  very  repentant.  The 
captain  usually  ended  by  laughing  and  bidding  me  mind 
my  eye,  which  I  was  quite  willing  to  do,  and  I  always 
promised  faithfully  that  I  would.  And  then  there  would 
come  the  next  time,  which  was  generally  due  to  my  great 
interest  in  something  which  I  was  seeing  for  the  first 
time,  perhaps.  I  have  no  doubt  that  that  fact  was  taken 
into  account  in  Captain  Nelson's  distribution  of  justice. 
He  was  a  just  man. 

It  was  dark  when  I  got  back  on  deck.  Trying-out  goes 
on  steadily,  day  and  night,  until  it  is  done.  A  trying-out 
watch  is  trying  in  more  senses  than  one.  Each  watch  con- 
sists of  half  the  crew,  who  are  on  duty  for  a  longer  time 


96  SHE  BLOWS  I 

on  end  than  usual.  It  is  hard  labor,  and  in  a  long  siege 
of  trying-out,  the  men  get  so  tired  and  dazed  and  sleepy 
that  they  move  in  a  drowse,  and  they  will  fall  asleep  any- 
where. It  is  in  this  state  that  the  man  will  nap  standing 
at  the  wheel,  and  the  man  on  the  royal  yard  also,  the  thin 
stay  in  the  hollow  of  his  shoulders,  and  an  arm  hooked  in 
the  running  rigging. 

They  had  finished  the  head-matter,  and  had  it  already 
ladled  into  casks  lashed  along  the  rail.  There  it  would 
stay  for  a  day  or  two  until  it  was  cool  enough  to  stow 
below.  They  had  been  working  on  the  blubber  for  some 
little  time,  and  the  smoke  coming  from  the  stacks  was 
thick  and  black,  except  when  red  flames  belched  from 
them,  mixed  with  the  smoke.  Sometimes,  when  oil  got  into 
the  fire,  perhaps  from  the  boiling  over  of  the  pots,  the 
stacks  sent  broad  sheets  of  flame  six  or  eight  feet  into  the 
air.  These  cast  a  ruddy  glare  over  everything,  throwing 
the  illuminated  portions  of  the  masts  and  sails  and  rig- 
ging into  high  relief,  and  making  bloody  reflections  from 
the  glistening  faces  and  bare  arms  of  the  men,  and  from 
the  crests  of  breaking  seas.  Altogether  it  was  a  scene  of 
weirdness,  but  it  was  evil-smelling,  and  the  whole  thing 
smacked  of  evil,  the  men  looking  like  devils  feeding  the 
firs  to  torture  some  poor  lost  soul. 

The  mates  stood  on  the  little  platform  in  front  of  the 
try-pots,  watching  their  kettles  of  fat,  stirring  them  now 
and  then  with  their  long-handled,  long-shanked  devil- 
forks.  Now  and  then  they  picked  up  a  piece  of  blubber  on 
their  forks,  holding  it  for  an  instant  clear  of  the  mess,  to 
see  if  the  oil  was  all  tried  out  of  it,  and  if  it  was  thor- 
oughly done.  At  last  one  of  the  pots  was  ready,  and  the 
piece  of  blubber,  after  dripping  for  a  moment  into  the 
pot,  was  thrown  on  deck  instead  of  being  dropped  back. 
It  was  crisp,  and  the  edges  curled  like  a  piece  of  bacon; 
it  sizzled  as  it  lay  there,  and  it  would  crackle  when  it  had 
cooled  a  little.  Standing  at  some  distance  from  the  try- 


TRYING  OUT  97 

pots,  as  I  was,  it  made  my  mouth  water;  but  I  am  afraid 
it  would  not  have  been  as  good  as  it  looked.  At  any  rate, 
I  was  not  to  try  it,  for  the  fire-door  was  opened,  and  the 
piece  of  bacon  thrown  in  with  an  iron  fork. 

The  boatsteerers  now  came  crowding  around,  with 
shallow  strainers,  or  skimmers,  about  a  foot  across,  with  a 
perforated  bottom  and  a  long  handle,  and  took  out  the 
pieces  of  blubber,  letting  each  drain  out  its  oil,  and  threw 
them  on  deck.  They  were  the  scraps,  and  would  be  used 
almost  immediately  for  feeding  the  fires.  There  was  an 
extra  try-pot  there,  three  feet  across,  with  legs  a  few 
inches  long  cast  on  it,  standing  on  the  deck  near;  in  fact, 
there  were  two  of  them.  It  was  intended  that  the  hot 
scraps  should  be  thrown  into  one  of  these,  but  it  was 
easier  to  throw  them  on  deck,  so  that  was  where  most  of 
them  went,  although  some  of  them  got  into  the  pot. 

A  piece  of  cold  minced  blubber  —  bible-leaves  —  was 
put  into  the  second  pot  to  hold  it  back  while  the  first  was 
emptied.  A  great  square  copper  tank  stood  beside  the  try- 
works,  the  cooling-tank  already  mentioned.  Although  I 
never  measured  our  tank,  I  should  think  it  was  about 
three  feet  wide  by  four  feet  long,  and  stood  nearly  five 
feet  high.  With  the  long-handled  copper  dippers  the  hot 
oil  was  ladled  from  the  try-pot  into  this  tank,  which  held 
a  good  deal  of  oil.  Here  the  oil  cooled  a  little,  and  some  of 
the  stuff,  which  the  skimmers  had  not  taken  out,  settled 
toward  the  bottom.  From  the  side  of  the  tank,  near  the 
top,  projected  an  overflow  spout,  with  a  fine  strainer  back 
of  it,  and  under  the  spout  was  kept  one  of  those  huge  iron 
pots  on  short  legs.  The  try-pot  which  had  been  emptied 
was  now  recharged  with  fresh  minced  blubber,  and  the 
operation  was  being  repeated. 

The  contents  of  the  second  pot  were  soon  ready,  and 
were  ladled  into  the  tank,  and  that  try-pot  recharged  with 
fresh  minced  blubber.  So  it  went  on:  horse-pieces, 
mincers,  try-pots  and  tank.  I  know  well  that  all  the  men 


98  SHE  BLOWS! 

concerned  in  the  process  were  tired  enough  of  it  before 
they  got  through,  if  they  thought  about  it  at  all.  Perhaps 
they  did  not  think,  arid  merely  did  it  as  part  of  the  day's 
work;  or,  at  best,  took  pride  in  their  individual  skill  in  the 
part  of  the  process  assigned  to  each. 

I  got  very  simply  tired  of  the  monotony  of  it,  and  nau- 
seated with  the  smell  of  the  burning  scraps.  It  was  im- 
possible to  get  away  from  that  smell  without  jumping 
overboard,  and  I  was  not  yet  ready  for  that.  The  thick, 
oily  black  smoke  rose  in  a  column  from  the  two  copper 
stacks,  and  drifted  off  in  the  darkness  to  leeward;  and 
the  men  under  the  shadow  of  the  roof  were  occasionally 
bathed  in  a  ruddy  light,  as  they  wielded  their  forks  or 
their  skimmers  or  their  copper  dippers.  I  watched  the 
smooth  stream  of  oil  run  smoking  from  the  overflow  spout 
with  each  dipperful  that  was  ladled  into  the  tank,  while 
the  level  of  the  oil  in  the  huge  iron  pot  got  higher  and 
higher.  I  had  had  enough  of  watching  it.  We  had  caught 
one  whale,  had  tried  out  less  than  a  third  of  the  oil,  and 
there  was  blubber  everywhere,  and  I  was  tired  of  it  al- 
ready. How  many  whales  would  it  take  to  fill  us  up?  Per- 
haps forty.  Perhaps  fifty  or  more  if  we  were  able  to  send 
home  any  of  our  oil.  The  thought  of  it  staggered  me,  and 
I  turned  away. 

They  had  already  broken  out  some  of  our  cargo.  The 
cargo  consisted  largely  of  casks,  which  were  variously  la- 
belled with  chalk  or  white  paint,  and  some  of  the  new 
casks,  light  colored,  with  that  black  paint  which  is  used  in 
putting  the  addresses  on  wooden  boxes  or  cases.  Of  the 
new  casks  some  were  labelled  "  Bread,"  some  "  Flour," 
and  so  on  through  our  list  of  food  that  would  keep.  The 
"  bread  "  was  not  the  soft  kind  that  I  was  familiar  with  in 
the  form  of  light,  delicately  brown  loaves  —  my  mother's. 
Tt  was  hardbread,  or  hardtack,  and  it  looked  much  like 
dogbread,  like  a  rock  when  freshly  baked.  Good  dogbread 
tastes  better  than  old  hardtack,  but  hardtack  in  good  con- 


•  COOPERAGE  99 

dition  is  pretty  good.  It  is  good  for  the  teeth.  Of  course 
there  were  no  casks  of  green  vegetables,  or  of  eggs  or 
of  butter  or  of  milk,  or  of  many  other  things  which  we 
think  necessary  to  our  well-being  ashore.  There  were  some 
of  salt  beef,  such  as  it  was.  The  casks  which  contained  the 
bread  and  the  flour  and  what-not,  when  they  had  been 
emptied  in  the  regular  course  of  events,  would  be  filled 
with  oil. 

.  We  had  been  out  too  short  a  time  to  empty  many  of 
these  casks,  and  others  were  being  hoisted  from  the  hold, 
with  the  legend  "  Heads  and  hoops."  There  were  shooks 
of  staves,  too,  the  staves  for  each  cask  hooped  together 
tightly,  and  bearing  some  resemblance  to  fasces.  If  I 
had  known  at  that  time  what  fasces  were,  I  should  have 
expected  to  see  the  sharp  head  of  a  cutting-spade  project- 
ing from  each  bundle.  Such  a  bundle  might  be  borne  be- 
fore a  whaling  captain  as  the  symbol  of  his  authority. 
But  I  had  never  heard  of  fasces,  and  I  was  interested 
only  in  the  process  of  opening  the  casks  and  getting  out 
the  heads  and  hoops.  The  bundles  of  staves  would  come 
later. 

The  cooper  was  in  charge  of  this  work,  but  a  number 
of  men  were  helping  him.  There  is  always  more  or  less 
cooper  work  being  done  on  a  whaler,  and  there  were  half  a 
dozen  men  in  the  crew  who  were  pretty  skilful  at  it. 
There  was  an  abundance  of  cooper's  tools  on  board,  espe- 
cially of  hammers  and  the  little  tools  that  are  set  against 
the  hoops,  and  struck  or  tapped  with  the  hammer  held  in 
the  right  hand,  to  drive  the  hoops  up  or  down.  I  think 
these  were  called  "  tappers,"  but  I  am  not  sure  at  this 
moment.  Names  which  were  once  familiar  to  me  have  a 
curious  habit  of  slipping  from  my  mind  and  eluding  all 
my  efforts  to  recover  them.  I  suppose  it  is  a  symptom  of 
age.  The  old-fashioned  name  of  a  perforated  skimmer 
about  five  or  six  inches  across,  very  slightly  concave;  up- 
wards, and  with  a  flat  iron  handle  —  somewhat  resem* 


100  SHE  BLOWS! 

bling  the  try-pot  skimmers  on  a  small  scale  —  has  eluded 
me  in  that  way  for  some  years.  I  almost  have  it,  and  it  is 
gone.  My  mother  or  my  grandmother  could  have  told  me 
in  an  instant,  but  I  suppose  it  is  of  no  use  to  ask.  anybody 
now. 

It  did  not  take  long  to  open  the  casks.  That  is  perhaps 
the  simplest  form  of  cooperage.  They  opened  enough  to 
give  them  the  heads  and  hoops  that  were  needed.  Then 
came  the  bundles  of  staves,  which  were  undone  carefully, 
one  bundle  at  a  time,  so  as  not  to  get  the  staves  mixed. 
These  staves,  being  old  and  oil-soaked,  were  quickly  set 
up,  and  the  casks  rolled  over  to  join  the  others  already 
lashed  by  the  bulwarks,  to  be  filled  with  hot  oil.  They 
were  filled  through  a  big  copper  funnel  —  Peter  called 
it  a  tunnel  —  with  a  fine  wire  strainer  fastened  in  it,  and 
a  nozzle  that  fitted  in  the  bunghole  of  a  barrel.  The  mouth 
of  this  funnel  was  large  and  square,  and  there  was  a  dou- 
ble bend  in  its  long  nose,  setting  off  the  mouth  from  the 
bunghole  by  a  couple  of  feet. 

They  do  these  things  differently  now.  There  are  large 
iron  cooling-tanks  below  decks,  and  the  hot  oil  is  poured 
into  them  through  a  pipe  which  opens  in  the  deck  near  the 
try-pots.  I  have  no  experience  with  them,  for  they  were 
unknown  to  me  in  1872,  so  that  I  cannot  say  whether  the 
oil  cools  as  quickly  in  the  tanks  as  it  did  in  the  casks. 
The  tanks  save  a  great  deal  of  work,  although  we  had 
men  enough  to  do  the  work  except  when  we  were  very 
much  crowded,  with  two  or  three  whales  at  once  fast 
alongside,  waiting  to  be  cut-in  and  tried  out. 

The  casks  that  had  been  filled  were  beginning  to  show 
a  slight  ooze  of  oil  at  their  seams.  I  was  watching  them 
when  Peter  Bottom  stopped  beside  me. 

He  gave  me  a  friendly  smile.  "  This  11  never  do,"  he 
said,  "  will  it  ?  'Most  all  the  casks  leak  at  first.  You  '11  hear 
a  deal  of  setting  up  hoops  before  we  stow  it  —  and  after, 
too,  or  the  barrels  might  be  empty,  some  of  'em,  when  we 


THE  SMELL  101 

got  home.  A  lot  of  oil  can  leak  out  in  four  years,  if  it  's 
only  a  few  drops  a  day." 

I  made  no  answer,  and  Peter  glanced  at  me.  "  What 's 
the  matter  ?  Little  mite  seasick  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Peter  !  "  I  said.  "  The  smell  ! " 

He  smiled  again.  "  Lor'  love  you,  "  he  said,  "  this  is 
nothin'.  It  's  pretty  had  sometimes,  when  we  've  had  the 
try-works  going  for  three  or  four  days  and  nights.  Then 
we  're  so  tired  we  can  hardly  stand,  and  there  's  so  much 
oil  and  water  over  everything  you  can't  walk  the  deck. 
Why,  many  a  time,  I  've  sat  down  and  slid  across  the  deck 
on  the  seat  of  my  trousers.  And  the  foul  smoke  chokes  and 
strangles  you,  and  it  feels  as  if  it  had  got  all  through  you, 
and  you  'd  like  to  scrape  your  lungs  with  a  knife,  to  get 
off  the  soot.  Everything  's  covered  with  oil,  your  clothes 
soaked  with  it,  your  skin  full  of  it,  your  feet,  hands,  and 
hair.  Break  a  biscuit  and  it  shines  with  oil,  and  cut  a 
piece  o'  meat  out  o'  the  kid  and  the  knife  leaves  its  trail 
of  oil.  There  's  no  gettin'  away  from  it,  and  you  fair  hate 
yourself.  But  cheer  up,  Tim,  it  '11  soon  be  over,  and  then 
you  '11  see  such  a  cleanin'  up  as  you  never  knew.  Sperm 
oil  washes  off  easy,  praise  the  pigs  !  " 

I  was  not  greatly  comforted.  I  could  not  stand  it  any 
longer,  and  I  went  to  the  stern  and  tried  to  get  a  breath 
of  sweet  air.  There  was  none.  All  the  air  over  that  great 
ocean  seemed  to  be  loaded  with  poison  from  the  burning 
scraps,  and  I  gave  it  up,  and  turned  in. 

I  lay  for  a  long  time  in  the  darkness,  listening  to  the 
breathing  of  the  men  in  the  other  bunks,  and  seeing,  be- 
fore the  eye  of  the  mind,  the  ooze  from  those  seams  grow 
into  light  amber-colored  drops.  Then  I  thought  of  the 
multitude  of  barrels  that  would  make  up  our  full  cargo  — > 
twenty-four  hundred  of  them  —  and  from  each  cask  an 
ooze  of  oil  that  grew  imperceptibly  into  a  drop.  It  was 
incredibly  slow,  that  growth.  And  then  all  the  drops 
growing,  even  more  slowly,  until  they  shivered  a  little, 


102  SHE  BLOWS! 

ready  to  fall.  I  almost  held  my  breath,  waiting  for  them 
to  fall,  and  tried  to  multiply  twenty-four  hundred  by 
three  hundred  and  sixty-five  by  four  —  see  whether  you 
can  do  it,  in  your  hlad,  while  you  wait  for  all  those  drops 
to  fall  at  once  —  mental  arithmetic,  they  called  it  in 
school.  I  remember  that  I  wished  I  knew  how  much  oil 
there  was  in  a  drop,  so  that  I  should  know  how  much  oil 
we  should  lose  if,  for  each  barrel,  there  was  a  leak 
amounting  to  a  drop  a  day.  Before  I  had  the  problem  more 
than  begun,  I  fell  asleep,  with  the  drops  all  trembling,  on 
the  very  point  of  falling.  I  dreamt  about  it,  and  woke 
early.  The  problem  still  bothered  me,  and  I  went  to  get 
pencil  and  paper,  or  its  equivalent,  and  figure  out  that 
product.  Then  I  would  ask  Captain  Nelson  how  much  oil 
there  was  in  a  drop,  and  I  should  know. 


CHAPTER  XI 

We  were  nearly  a  month  on  Hatteras  grounds,  with  good 
weather,  on  the  whole.  We  spoke  several  merchant  ves- 
sels, one  of  which  was  a  big  five-masted  schooner  bound 
into  Charleston  from  Batavia.  None  of  the  men  had  seen 
such  a  big  schooner-rigged  vessel  before,  and  they  all 
gazed  at  her  with  their  mouths  hanging  open  as  long  as 
she  was  in  sight.  There  was  nothing  beautiful  about  her 
with  her  stubby-looking  masts  and  big  sails.  She  would 
have  made  five  of  us  easily,  and  the  Clearchus  was  fairly 
big  for  a  whaler.  There  was  a  smashing  southwest  breeze 
that  day,  and  the  schooner  roared  by  us,  close-hauled, 
with  all  lowers  set  and  trimmed  flat,  carrying  a  big  bone 
in  her  teeth,  and  spray  flying  over  her,  forward,  with 
every  sea. 

We  were  working  well  toward  the  southern  edge  of  the 
grounds.  Whales  were  scarce  and  shy.  One  wise  old  bull 
succeeded  in  inducing  Mr.  Baker  and  Mr.  Tilton  to  keep 
after  him  for  eight  hours,  gradually  making  to  windward 
in  a  heavy  sea,  until  he  finally  left  them,  giving  a  snort  of 
derision  as  he  went.  I  suppose  he  thought  that,  as  it  was 
about  bedtime,  he  would  call  it  a  day.  The  men  came  back 
utterly  beat  out  and  disgusted 

When  no  whales  had  even  been  raised  for  a  week  the 
ship's  head  was  again  turned  to  the  north  for  a  last  look 
before  making  to  the  eastward.  We  had  taken  but  one 
whale.  The  morning  after  the  change  of  course  I  heard 
Mr.  Baker,  who  had  that  watch,  come  into  the  cabin  and 
knock  on  the  captain's  door.  In  response  to  the  captain's 
roar,  he  asked  him  to  come  on  deck  and  see  what  we  had 
with  us.  I  heard  Captain  Nelson  getting  up  —  he  was 
never  very  quiet  about  it,  especially  when  he  was  in  a 


104  SHE  BLOWS! 

hurry  —  and  I  bolted  out,  and  up  the  stairs  at  Mr. 
Baker's  heels,  expecting  to  see  something  quite  unusual,  a 
whale  of  enormous  size,  perhaps,  or  a  large  shark  at  least, 
or  perhaps  an  enormous  squid.  I  think  I  was  inclined  to 
the  squid,  for  I  had  always  heard  of  it,  but  I  had  never 
come  across  anybody  who  had  seen  one,  and  I  was  anxious 
to  see  a  great  squid  with  my  own  eyes  —  and  at  a  safe 
distance. 

As  soon  as  I  reached  the  deck  I  looked  all  around  and 
saw  nothing  unusual  —  no  squid,  at  any  rate.  The  sun 
was  not  yet  up,  and  the  waters  were  heaving  in  slow 
swells,  although  the  surface  was  calm  and  there  was 
hardly  enough  wind  for  steerage  way.  Deep  silence  was 
upon  the  sea,  so  that  I  heard  it  breathing  —  or  it  was  as 
real  as  that.  The  watch  stood  about,  or  paced  to  and  fro 
without  a  sound.  The  whole  aspect  was  inexpressibly 
melancholy  and  desolate,  and  the  silence  seemed  filled 
with  evil.  All  the  while  the  breathing  of  the  sea  went  on, 
as  each  great  roller  caught  up  with  us,  and  raised  the  ship 
to  the  top  of  its  gentle  slope,  passed  on  from  under  us, 
dropping  her  into  the  valley.  I  sighed,  in  spite  of  myself, 
and  I  looked  about  even  more  carefully.  There  was  noth- 
ing to  be  seen  on  the  water  except  a  topsail  schooner  quite 
near,  and  drifting  along  with  us. 

I  looked  up  at  Mr.  Baker,  forgetting,  for  the  moment, 
the  pressing  matter  that  had  brought  me  on  deck.  I  could 
think  of  nothing  but  that  gentle  breathing,  like  the  sigh 
of  some  huge,  invisible  monster. 

"  Can  you  hear  it,  Mr.  Baker  ?  "  I  asked. 

Mr.  Baker  was  an  abrupt  and  rough-spoken  man, 
though  good-hearted  and  kind  at  bottom.  He  looked  at  me 
with  a  lively  interest. 

"  Hear  it  !  "  he  said.  "  Hear  what  ?  " 

"  Can  you  hear  the  sea  breathing?  I  can  sir.** 

He  burst  into  a  great  roar  of  laughter,  and  I  got  as 
red  as  whale-meat.  Mr.  Baker  had  no  imagination  and  I 


THE  ANNIE  BATTLES  105 

ought  to  have  known  better  than  to  ask  him.  I  did,  but 
I  forgot. 

His  laughter  stopped  as  abruptly  as  it  had  begun. 
"  No,  boy,"  he  said.  "  Can't  say  as  I  do.  What  does  it 
sound  like  ?  " 

"  I  thought  that  it  might  be  something,  sir,  that  you 
called  the  captain  to  see  —  a  big  whale  or  a  squid." 

"  The  great  squid,  eh  ? "  he  asked,  smiling.  "  And 
breathing,  too.  How  big  a  squid  did  you  hope  to  see?  Big 
as  a  house  ?  " 

"  Something  like  that,  sir." 

"  Big  as  a  ship,  with  arms  a  hundred  feet  long,  eh  ?  " 
He  burst  into  another  roar  of  laughter.  "  Been  reading 
Melville  ?  You  have  n't,  eh  ?  Well,  there  may  be  such 
squid,  but  I  've  never  seen  any  of  'em,  and  I  've  never 
seen  anybody  who  had.  All  the  squid  I  've  seen  were  little 
fellows,  a  foot  or  two  long,  with  arms  not  over  nine  or 
ten  feet,  although  Banks  fishermen  have  got  'em  up  to 
thirty  foot,  they  say.  No,  I  did  n't  call  the  captain  for 
anything  of  the  sort.  You  see  that  schooner  over  there, 
with  yards  at  fore  and  main  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  that 's  it.  She  's  the  Annie  Battles,  and  a  very 
fast  and  able  boat  she  is.  Hails  from  Nantucket,  Coffin, 
master.  Maybe  you  '11  have  a  chance  to  see  her  again  be- 
fore we  get  through,  but  just  look  at  her  lines,  and  then 
look  at  the  lines  of  the  Clearchus." 

So  I  looked  carefully  at  the  lines  of  the  Annie  Battles. 
She  was  long,  almost  as  long  as  the  Clearchus,  I  judged, 
but  she  gave  the  impression  of  being  quite  a  little  smaller, 
because  of  her  very  different  model.  She  had  an  easy  en- 
trance, easy,  swelling  lines,  a  full  quarter  and  counter, 
but  not  too  full.  I  could  not  see  her  beam,  of  course,  from 
where  we  were,  but  it  was  evidently  of  that  generous 
character  which  gives  a  vessel  stability  while  not  interfer- 
ing with  her  speed.  Altogether,  the  Annie  Battles  would 


106  SHE  BLOWS! 

have  been  called  at  once  powerful  and  able.  That  was  the 
term  that  sprang  at  once  to  a  sailor's  lips  —  an  able  boat, 
a  very  able  boat.  I  heard  it  from  many,  and  it  was  the 
first  thing  they  said.  I  cannot  think  of  any  form  of  praise 
that  I  would  rather  have  had  if  I  had  been  her  designer; 
it  means  so  much,  speed,  seaworthiness,  ability  to  carry  * 
sail  with  safety.  It  must  have  given  Coffin,  master,  a  great 
deal  of  sheer  pleasure  merely  to  contemplate  his  vessel, 
there  was  that  beauty  in  her. 

She  was  rigged  as  a  topsail  schooner,  with  a  topsail 
yard  on  each  mast,  a  rig  that  I  have  not  happened  to  see 
in  any  other  instance.  In  fact,  the  Dobbin,  a  revenue  cut- 
ter stationed  at  New  Bedford  a  few  years  later,  and  the 
Eva  are  the  only  other  topsail  schooners  I  remember,  and 
they  had  a  topsail  yard  only  on  the  foremast,  according 
to  my  recollection.  It  was  a  very  pretty  rig,  but  was  never 
much  in  fashion,  and  has  gone  out  long  ago. 

I  was  still  looking  at  the  Battles  when  I  heard  Cap- 
tain Nelson's  step  behind  me.  Mr.  Baker  and  I  were  stand- 
ing under  the  gallows  just  forward  of  the  mizzenmast. 
There  is  no  whaleboat  there,  as  a  boat  would  interfere 
with  the  use  of  the  gangway.  I  was  at  the  rail,  but  Mr. 
Baker  stood  behind  me,  well  in  the  shadow  and  the  cap- 
tain stopped  beside  him. 

"  Well,  I  'm  damned  !  "  he  said  in  tones  of  utter  dis- 
gust. Then  he  began  to  laugh.  "  I  am  damned  !  "  he  said 
again.  "  How  long's  he  been  there,  Mr.  Baker  ?  " 

Mr.  Baker  shook  his  head.  "  He  was  there  with  the 
first  streaks  of  daylight.  I  did  n't  see  him  come." 

Captain  Nelson  seemed  to  have  got  through  with  the 
Annie  Battles.  He  stood  gazing  absently  at  the  great, 
smooth  swells  rolling  up  on  our  starboard  quarter,  looked 
off  at  the  horizon,  as  if  he  could  see  beyond  it,  and  sniffed 
the  air  like  a  dog.  At  last  he  turned  to  Mr.  Baker. 

"  I  don't  like  the  look  of  these  seas,"  he  said.  "  The 
glass  has  n't  begun  to  fall  yet,  but  it  will.  Make  the  course 
southeast,  Mr.  Baker.  We  '11  get  out  of  this." 


CAPTAIN  COFFIN  107 

"As  to  these  seas,  Tim,  here,  says  they  breathe.  He 
hears  'em." 

Captain  Nelson  glanced  at  me  with  a  smile.  "  Does  he  ? 
Well,  so  they  do,  Tim.  Could  n't  Mr.  Baker  hear  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.  He  did  n't  seem  to,  and  I  was  n't 
very  sure  of  it,  but  it  seemed  as  if  I  did." 

"  Be  sure  of  what  you  see  and  hear,  Tim,"  said  the 
captain  kindly.  "  You  're  as  likely  to  be  right  as  another, 
as  far  as  the  evidence  of  your  senses  goes.  It 's  only  in 
accounting  for  facts  that  a  man  of  knowledge  and  ex- 
perience has  the  better  of  you." 

"  Thank  you,  sir." 

Mr.  Baker  was  giving  orders  that  would  bring  the  ship 
on  her  new  course,  and  she  soon  began  to  wear  slowly,  for 
the  gentle  breath  of  air  was  from  the  southwest.  We 
passed  astern  of  the  Annie  Battles,  which  had  got  pretty 
far  ahead  by  that  time,  but  I  could  see  that  the  men  on 
her  deck  were  surprised  at  our  change  of  course.  Captain 
Nelson  was  watching  her,  and  presently  a  man  came  up 
her  companionway,  and  stood  on  her  deck  looking  at  us. 
He  was  a  large  man,  much  larger  than  Captain  Nelson. 
I  could  see  nothing  more  than  that  and  that  he  was  active 
enough  to  be  a  young  man.  He  raised  his  hand,  but  I  could 
not  tell  whether  he  was  shaking  his  fist  or  merely  waving 
his  hand  in  salutation.  Captain  Nelson  chuckled  and 
waved  his  hand. 

The  Battles  was  jibing,  and  she  was  coming  after  us. 
Captain  Nelson  did  not  wait,  but  after  giving  another 
long  look  around,  he  went  below.  I  followed,  and  pestered 
him,  for  I  wanted  to  know  what  it  was  that  he  expected, 
and  why  he  expected  it.  Of  course  I  had  no  business  to 
bother  him  about  such  matters  at  all,  and  he  would  have 
been  quite  right  to  tell  me  shortly  to  shut  up,  and  many 
masters  would.  Captain  Nelson  never  did  that  if  he  be- 
lieved that  I  was  thirsting  for  information  which  it  was 
quite  proper  for  me  to  have.  This  occasion  was  no  excep- 


108  SHE  BLOWS! 

tion,  and  he  went  to  considerable  pains  to  explain  what 
he  could,  and  what  I  could  digest,  about  tropical  hurri- 
canes, which  are  mosj;  common  about  that  season,  espe- 
cially just  about  the  place  where  we  were.  It  was  all  in- 
tensely interesting  to  me,  and  I  listened  in  complete  ab- 
sorption, managing  to  remember  most  of  what  he  told  me. 

At  that  time  there  was  a  less  general  understanding  of 
the  fundamental  principles  of  weather,  even  among  good 
seamen,  than  there  is  now.  For  my  own  part,  it  has  al- 
ways been  difficult  for  me  to  remember  instructions  when 
they  had  to  be  memorized;  but  when  I  once  have  mas- 
tered principles  my  troubles  are  over.  I  do  not  have  to 
search  the  stores  of  memory  for  a  formula  which  fits  the 
occasion,  like  a  formula  in  chemistry,  and  I  rarely  go 
astray. 

Captain  Nelson  had  not  got  far  into  the  subject  when 
he  interrupted  himself. 

"  Well,  Tim,"  he  said,  "  that 's  enough  for  this  time. 
Better  be  off  about  your  business,  and  we  '11  have  another 
lesson  before  long.  I  want  you  to  learn  to  navigate  a  ves- 
sel." 

This  was  good  news  to  me.  I  knew  nothing  whatever 
about  navigation,  or  perhaps  I  should  not  have  been  so 
pleased.  When  Captain  Nelson  had  given  me  some  in- 
struction, and  I  plunged  into  Bowditch  by  myself,  I  found 
that  I  had  plunged  into  deep  water  without  knowing  how 
to  swim.  I  was  not  satisfied  to  do  things  in  a  superficial 
way,  according  to  formula,  without  knowing  what  I  was 
doing,  or  why,  and  at  first  I  had  a  heartbreaking  strug- 
gle with  mathematics  beyond  my  preparation  for  it.  But  I 
happened  to  discover,  quite  by  accident,  in  the  third  mate, 
Mr.  Brown,  a  man  who  knew  all  that  mysterious  coun- 
try—  or  those  seas.  Mr.  Brown  piloted  me  through  those 
strange  seas  with  considerable  skill  and  great  patience,  so 
that  I  could  attack  my  navigation  with  some  satisfaction. 
But  I  am  getting  ahead  of  my  story. 


A  HEAVY  SEA  109 

Flocks  of  petrels,  or  Mother  Carey's  chickens,  were 
about  the  ship  by  noon,  with  their  curious  habit  of  flight, 
as  if  walking  on  the  water.  By  the  middle  of  the  after- 
noon the  wind  had  come  in  from  the  eastward,  and  by 
dark  it  was  blowing  fresh,  the  wind  heavy  and  wet  and 
increasing.  Sail  was  reduced  to  reefed  topsails,  and  the 
Clearchus  was  put  as  close  to  the  wind  as  she  would  go, 
making  a  course  a  little  south  of  southeast.  Sailing  on  a 
taut  bowline  was  not  one  of  the  strong  points  of  the 
Clearchus.  She  labored  a  great  deal,  the  seas  slapped  up 
against  her  bluff  bows,  she  made  much  fuss  and  compara- 
tively little  headway,  but  considerable  leeway.  There  was 
nothing  to  do,  however,  but  to  make  everything  snug,  and 
to  trust  in  Providence  and  the  ship;  and  I  turned  in  with 
no  misgivings,  and  slept  soundly. 

The  weather  got  worse  as  the  night  wore  on,  and  I  sud- 
denly found  myself  sprawling  on  the  floor.  The  ship  was 
cutting  up  curious  antics.  I  crawled  on  my  hands  and 
knees  back  to  my  bunk,  but  I  could  not  go  to  sleep  again, 
although  I  was  sleepy.  My  bunk  was  on  the  weather  side, 
and  first  I  would  be  standing  nearly  on  my  feet,  then 
nearly  on  my  head,  then  perhaps  she  would  quiver  and 
go  slowly  over  almost  on  her  beam  ends,  so  that  I  barely 
escaped  being  rolled  on  to  the  floor  again.  I  heard  the 
bell  striking  wildly  —  the  tongue  must  have  got  loose  — 
until  somebody  went  and  tied  it  up  again,  lashed  it  tight. 
It  must  have  been  two  or  three  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
She  seemed  to  ease  a  little,  sliding  down  the  side  of  each 
sea  until  I  thought  she  must  be  bound  for  the  bottom  of 
the  ocean;  then  rising  slowly,  and  struggling  up  the  side 
of  the  next,  until  at  last  she  reached  the  top.  There  she 
paused  for  what  seemed  to  me,  down  there  in  my  bunk, 
as  much  as  an  hour,  and  rolled  to  leeward,  and  I  held  on 
with  all  my  might. 

I  must  have  dropped  off  to  sleep  again,  for  the  next 
thing  I  knew  daylight  was  filtering  in.    The    ship    was 


110  SHE  BLOWS! 

keeping  up  her  wild  coasting  down  and  slow  struggles  up- 
ward, and  my  muscles  were  sore  and  lame  with  holding 
on  through  my  sleep.* 

Captain  Nelson  was  on  deck  when  I  got  there.  He  must 
have  been  there  most  of  the  night.  Never  in  my  life,  be- 
fore or  since,  have  I  seen  such  seas.  They  were  veritable 
mountains,  with  rugged  sides,  long  and  high.  When  we 
were  in  a  valley  we  on  the  deck  were  sheltered  from  the 
worst  of  the  wind,  and  the  oncoming  sea  towered  so  above 
us  that  I  wondered  whether  the  ship  would  ever  be  able 
to  climb  that  steep  slope.  She  did  somehow.  The  seas 
were  so  long  that  she  rode  them  easily  enough;  with  un- 
natural ease,  it  seemed  to  me.  At  last  I  discovered  the  ex- 
planation. They  had  put  out  oil  bags  during  the  night, 
bags  of  canvas  stuffed  with  oakum  and  filled  with  oil. 
Two  of  these  bags  were  fast,  by  lines  long  enough  to  let 
them  trail  in  the  water,  to  the  ends  of  the  spritsail  yard, 
or  spreader  on  the  bowsprit,  and  one  to  each  cathead.  As 
they  trailed  in  the  water  at  the  ends  of  their  lines,  the  oil 
oozed  slowly  from  them  and  formed  a  thin  film  over  the 
water  which  prevented  its  breaking,  so  that  the  ship  sailed 
in  a  little  calm  area  of  her  own.  This  eased  her  wonder- 
fully. 

The  best  course  she  could  make  was  too  much  to  the 
south  to  please  Captain  Nelson,  and  she  was  hardly  doing 
more  than  lie  to.  Soon  after  I  came  up  the  foretopsail, 
close-reefed  as  it  was,  split  from  top  to  bottom,  and  in  a 
very  few  minutes  it  was  nothing  but  ribbons.  The  men  had 
great  trouble  in  getting  in  the  remnants  of  the  sail,  but 
at  last  it  was  secured  after  a  fashion,  the  strips  wound 
about  the  yard  like  a  bandage,  and  lashed. 

One  storm  is  much  like  another,  except  in  degree.  This 
one  reached  its  height  just  before  noon,  and  wore  off  con- 
siderably toward  night,  although  it  still  blew  with  gale 
force.  The  sea  went  down  during  the  next  day,  the  wind 
drawing  to  the  westward.  It  was  a  dry,  puffy  wind,  and 


WRECKAGE  111. 

the  men  got  out  their  wet  clothes  and  hung  them  on  lines 
all  about  the  ship,  so  that  we  must  have  looked  like  a 
laundry.  We  had  got  more  sail  on  the  ship,  and  with  a 
fair  wind  she  made  pretty  good  speed  for  her.  A  pretty 
sight  she  must  have  been,  rolling  along  under  courses  and 
maintopsail  with  garments  of  all  hues  and  descriptions 
festooned  about  her. 

I  went  in  search  of  Peter,  and  found  him  gazing  toward 
the  southeastern  horizon.  He  paid  me  no  attention  until 
I  spoke. 

"  Is  it  you,  lad  ?  "  he  said,  giving  me  a  smile.  "  I 
thought  I  saw  something  heaving  atop  of  a  sea.  Then  the 
sea  went  on,  and  let  it  down,  and  I  lost  it.  There  it  is 
again,  just  atop  of  that  big  sea.  It  has  the  look  of  a  cask 
or  a  barrel.  Better  run  aft,  Tim,  and  see  what  they  make 
of  it." 

I  found  Captain  Nelson  with  his  glass  at  his  eye. 

"  A  barrel,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Baker,  "  and  an  oil  barrel, 
and  half  full  of  oil,  I  should  guess.  And  there  's  other 
wreckage.  Better  run  down  that  way." 

We  changed  our  course  to  southeast,  and  in  ten  minutes 
or  so  we  were  running  through  all  sorts  of  wreckage  scat- 
tered over  a  mile  or  more  of  ocean :  barrels,  many  of  them 
full,  and  fragments  of  boats,  and  pieces  of  a  deckhouse, 
and  broken  oars,  and  splinters  of  some  vessel's  rail,  and 
other  like  evidence  of  destruction.  They  seemed  worth 
further  investigation,  and  we  backed  our  main,  while  a 
boat  was  lowered.  The  boat  came  back  without  having 
been  able  to  identify  the  vessel.  There  was  no  name  on 
any  of  the  fragments,  and  nothing  which  gave  a  clue;  and 
although  there  were  several  barrels  in  sight,  they  seemed 
to  be  full  of  oil,  and  they  floated  awash,  so  that  the  name, 
if  it  was  there,  could  not  be  seen  without  getting  them 
out  of  the  water.  Mr.  Baker  suggested  that,  and  made  the 
further  suggestion  that  they  were  full  of  oil  anyway,  and 
we  would  be  killing  two  bird<?  with  one  stone.  He  hated  to 
gee  that  good  oil  bound  for  Davy  Jones. 


112  SHE  BLOWS! 

Captain  Nelson  shook  his  head.  It  was  near  sr.nset, 
and  the  yards  were  braced  around,  and  we  filled  off  on 
our  course  again.  We  sailed  through  more  scattered 
wreckage  for  half  an  flour,  some  fragment  of  the  good 
ship  here  and  there,  broken  out  of  her  light  upper  works. 
It  made  us  all  silent,  each  man  busy  with  his  own 
thoughts.  They  might  have  been,  with  a  few  minutes' 
streak  of  bad  luck,  the  fragments  of  the  Clearchus  which 
were  scattered  over  those  miles  of  ocean.  I  was  thinking 
of  this,  and  looking  out  ahead,  when  I  saw  what  seemed 
to  be  a  spar  with  a  broken  end  rise  on  a  sea,  then  vanish 
again.  It  glistened  in  the  light  of  the  setting  sun,  but  I 
thought  that  I  had  made  out  the  broken  end  clearly. 

I  spoke  of  it,  but  the  captain  was  already  examining  it 
through  his  glass. 

"  I  've  got  it,  Tim,"  he  said.  He  put  the  glass  down. 
"  Two  spars  lashed  together,  and  a  man  lashed  to  them. 
No  sign  of  life  in  him,  but  we  '11  pick  him  up  and  see." 

We  ran  down  to  him,  pretty  close.  It  was  a  crazy  apol- 
ogy for  a  raft,  merely  two  spars  lashed  together  loosely. 
The  man  had  been  sitting  on  them  with  his  legs,  from  the 
knees  down,  in  the  water.  Now  his  body  had  fallen  back- 
ward, and  his  head  rested  on  the  spars.  In  his  hand  he 
gripped  a  hatchet.  What  could  he  have  wanted  with  a 
hatchet  ?  I  asked  the  captain. 

Captain  Nelson  was  looking  at  the  man,  but  he  turned 
to  me  for  an  instant.  "  Sharks,  I  'm  afraid,  Tim,"  he  said. 

Just  then  our  boat  got  to  him,  and  somebody  cut  the 
lashings,  and  they  lifted  him  into  the  boat.  His  legs  were 
terribly  bitten  by  sharks,  and  one  foot  was  gone.  I  turned 
away,  sick  and  faint. 

It  was  dusk  when  they  brought  him  aboard,  still  grip- 
ping his  hatchet.  He  was  breathing,  but  the  life  was  aK 
most  out  of  him.  He  was  carried  below,  and  they  did 
what  they  could  for  him,  and  he  was  still  alive  when  I 
turned  in  after  writing  what  I  considered  a  very  solemn 


A  SEA  BURIAL  113 

and  arresting  passage  in  my  journal.  I  do  not  reproduce 
that  passage.  It  seems  like  betraying  the  confidence  of  a 
well-meaning  boy  who  seldom  felt  deeply  on  such  matters, 
and  still  more  seldom  gave  utterance  to  thoughts  of  the 
kind  when  he  had  them.  To  me  it  would  seem  much  on 
the  same  order  as  publishing  love-letters  —  to  be  ridi- 
culed. But  the  passage  in  my  journal  is  funny,  while  it 
brings  tears  to  my  eyes  as  I  remember  my  feelings  as  I 
wrote  it. 

When  I  got  on  deck  in  the  morning  I  saw  the  four 
Kanakas  gathered  about  the  sailmaker,  who  was  just  fin- 
ishing the  job  of  sewing  up  a  long  bundle  done  up  in  a 
piece  of  old  canvas.  It  was  the  body  of  the  man  we  had 
rescued  the  evening  before.  He  had  died  in  the  night 
without  regaining  consciousness.  He  was  a  Kanaka,  but 
beyond  that  one  evident  fact  we  never  knew  who  he  was, 
or  what  ship  he  came  from,  for  by  the  time  we  got  back 
to  New  Bedford  so  many  things  had  happened  that  the 
incident  had  slipped  from  our  minds.  Many  things  slip 
from  the  minds  of  sailors  in  that  way,  and  are  recalled 
only  in  the  course  of  recounting  some  yarn,  as  I  am  doing. 

The  four  Kanakas  were  chanting  an  improvised  song, 
the  Admiral  singing  each  verse,  which  he  seemed  to  be 
making  up  as  he  went  along,  and  the  other  three  joining 
in  the  chorus.  The  singing  was  soft  and  seemed  weird  to 
me,  for  I  had  never  before  heard  Kanaka  singing.  There 
were  a  great  many  verses,  and  the  singing  continued  long 
after  the  sailmaker  had  got  through  and  gone.  Then  the 
captain  and  other  officers  came,  and  the  crew  was  mustered, 
and  we  all  stood  with  uncovered  heads  while  the  captain 
read  a  very  short  service  —  or  prayer,  I  don't  know  which 
—  from  a  prayer  book.  The  service  took  about  a  minute, 
and  then  they  tipped  up  the  plank  and  shot  the  body  into 
the  sea  just  as  the  sun  was  coming  up  out  of  it.  I  was  at 
the  rail,  and  I  caught  the  red  gleam  of  sunlight  on  the 
canvas    as    the    bundle    fell,   making   a    crimson    streak 


114  SHE  BLOWS! 

through  the  air;  it  struck  the  water,  throwing  the  spray 
high,  and  disappeared  from  our  sight,  and  it  was  as  if 
that  man  had  never  been.  The  ceremony  over,  and  the 
body,  shrouded  in  canvas,  plunging  downward  through  the 
depths  of  ocean,  the  crew  put  on  their  hats  or  caps  and 
went  about  their  business,  promptly  forgetting  the  whole 
matter.  But  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  the  sharks  did 
not  forget,  and  I  doubt  whether  that  bundle  ever  reached 
bottom. 

That  afternoon  we  sighted  a  sail  rising  to  the  south- 
east. It  had  the  look  of  a  ship  or  a  brig,  for  all  we  could 
see  at  first  was  the  dim  outline  of  square  topsails;  but 
presently  the  upper  parts  of  her  lower  sails  had  risen 
from  the  sea,  and  they  were  fore-and-aft  sails  unmis- 
takably. There  could  be  but  one  vessel  which  answered 
that  description,  and  that  was  the  Annie  Battles.  Captain 
Nelson  showed  a  curious  mixture  of  relief  and  disappoint- 
ment. He  smiled  and  swore  softly,  and  I  was  tempted  to 
run  and  find  Peter  Bottom,  but  I  did  not.  It  was  exactly 
what  he  had  expected. 

I  remember  there  was  a  flock  of  petrels  near  the  ship 
at  the  time,  and  my  attention  was  divided  between  watch- 
ing them  and  watching  the  Battles.  She  was  running  close- 
hauled,  at  which  she  was  very  good ;  and  she  got  abeam  of 
us,  and  very  near,  before  I  noticed  that  she  had  a  brand- 
new  foretopmast.  M{.  Baker  and  the  captain,  of  course, 
had  seen  it  long  before.  Mr.  Baker  now  turned  to  the 
captain. 

"  We  got  out  of  it,"  he  said,  "  better  than  she  did." 

Captain  Nelson  nodded.  There  was  a  big  young  fellow 
standing  near  the  wheel  of  the  Battles,  and  looking  hard 
at  us.  Mr.  Baker  said  it  was  Captain  Coffin.  I  was  sur- 
prised, for,  except  for  his  size,  he  looked  too  young  to  be 
captain  of  anything.  He  was  as  big  as  my  father,  and 
seemed  much  like  him,  pleasant  and  easy-going  and  com- 
petent. He  waved  his  hand  to  Captain  Nelson. 


THE  TWO  CAPTAINS  115 

"  Just  wanted  to  make  sure  you  were  all  right,"  he 
shouted. 

Captain  Nelson  grinned.  "  Much  obliged,"  he  answered. 
"  All  shipshape.  Did  n't  even  lose  a  to'gallan'mast." 

Coffin  laughed  at  that.  "  Nor  a  sail  either,  I  suppose," 
he  retorted,  pointing  at  our  topsail  yard.  Some  of  the 
crew  were  on  it  at  that  moment,  bending  a  new  foretop- 
sail. 

Captain  Nelson  grinned  again.  "  It  was  so  old,"  he 
said,  "  that  I  thought  I  'd  better  bend  a  new  one." 

The  Battles  was  shaking  in  the  wind,  and  fell  off  on 
the  other  tack,  and  rounded  under  our  stern.  She  shaved 
our  stern  so  close  that  I  could  almost  have  reached  out 
and  grabbed  the  leach  of  her  mainsail.  She  kept  off  with 
us  on  our  course,  but  she  was  sailing  nearly  two  feet  to 
our  one,  and  she  drew  ahead  rapidly. 

Before  she  had  sailed  our  length  Captain  Coffin  hailed 
again. 

"  Where  'you  bound  now  ?  " 

Captain  Nelson  waved  his  hand  vaguely.  "  Oh,  to  the 
east'ard,"  he  said,  "  to  the  east'ard." 

"  Western  grounds,  I  suppose.  We  '11  be  waiting  for 
you." 


CrfAPTER  XII 

The  first  observation  that  the  captain  was  able  to  take 
showed  us  to  be  in  latitude  27°  N.,  which  was  much  far- 
ther south  than  he  had  any  idea  of.  I  was  present  when 
he  worked  out  our  position;  I  was  supposed  to  be  having 
a  lesson  in  navigation,  but  I  had  no  notion  what  he  was 
doing,  nor  why.  I  remember  that  he  could  not  believe  it, 
and  thought  that  he  must  have  made  a  mistake,  but  a  sec- 
ond observation  confirmed  the  first,  and  I  marked  our  po- 
sition on  the  chart.  I  knew  enough  for  that.  That  made 
our  course  northeast.  Captain  Nelson  went  on  deck  to  give 
the  new  course,  and  left  me  alone  with  Bowditch.  I  strug- 
gled along  for  a  few  minutes,  but  I  might  as  well  have 
been  blind  for  all  the  good  I  got  out  of  the  book.  I  thought 
I  might  as  well  be  out  in  the  sunshine,  so  I  put  the  book 
under  my  arm,  and  went  on  deck. 

Mr.  Brown  happened  upon  me  as  I  sat  on  a  coil  of 
rope  with  the  open  book  on  my  knee.  It  is  not  likely  that 
I  was  even  trying  to  read,  but  I  was  probably  gazing  out 
over  the  ocean,  which  I  could  just  see  at  every  roll  of  the 
ship,  or  up  at  the  sky.  He  stooped  and  saw  what  I  was 
at,  and  he  smiled,  and  asked  me  how  I  was  getting  along. 
When  I  confessed  that  I  was  not  getting  along  at  all,  he 
offered  to  help  me,  and  I  accepted  gratefully.  He  could 
not  help  me  then,  for  he  was  on  duty;  but  later  on  he 
gave  me  my  first  idea  of  trigonometry.  That  was  the  be- 
ginning of  my  studies  with  Mr.  Brown.  He  was  an  excel- 
lent teacher,  and  I  was  anxious  to  learn,  which  makes  all 
the  difference  in  the  world. 

It  was  four  or  five  days  later  that  we  ran  into  the  edge 
of  the  Sargasso  Sea.  We  should  have  been  clear  of  it  by 
good  rights,  but  the  edge  of  the  weed  had  been  shifted 


THE  SARGASSO  SEA  117 

into  what  should  have  heen  clear  ocean,  possibly  by  the 
very  storm  that  we  had  come  through.  I  knew,  of  course, 
that  it  must  be  the  Sargasso  Sea.  I  had  read  about  it  in 
my  geography  without  much  interest,  and  the  teacher  had 
not  seemed  much  more  interested  than  I,  or  to  know 
much  more  about  it. 

The  idea  that  I  had  formed  was  of  a  close-packed  mass 
of  seaweed,  through  which  a  ship  could  no  more  force  her 
way  than  she  could  through  an  enormous  haystack.  The 
real  thing  is  very  different.  I  have  never  been  any  closer 
to  the  middle  than  I  was  that  day  in  the  Clearchus,  and 
so  I  do  not  know,  from  the  evidence  of  my  own  senses, 
how  closely  packed  the  weed  may  be;  but  it  is  not  like 
a  stack  of  hay  at  all.  It  consists  of  separate  plants,  or 
pieces  of  a  plant,  not  above  a  foot  across,  every  plant 
floating  by  itself.  A  ship  would  probably  have  no  great 
trouble  in  going  through  what  looked  like  a  solid  mass  of 
floating  weed,  each  separate  plant  giving  to  her  passage 
with  but  little  more  resistance  than  the  water. 

Peter  got  a  bucketful  of  water,  with  a  plant  bearing  its 
strange  freight  of  life :  crabs,  sea-horses,  pipe-fish,  shrimp, 
and  slugs. 

"  Aye,  Timmie,"  he  said  as  he  dropped  the  bucket  over 
the  side,  "  it 's  sargasso,  and  that  means  seaweed  in  some 
outlandish  lingo.  Why  they  can't  say  seaweed  when  they 
mean  seaweed  is  beyond  me.  I  've  seen  it  many  a  time." 

That  bucket  of  water  led  to  a  fresh  dislike  of  Mr.  Wal- 
let. I  had  made  a  hasty  examination  of  it  while  all  hands 
gathered  around  me.  As  soon  as  I  could  I  grabbed  up  the 
bucket  and  ran  aft  with  it,  the  water  slopping  over  my 
legs  as  I  ran.  I  wanted  to  study  those  strange  beings  at 
my  leisure. 

Suddenly  remembering  duties  which,  as  was  quite 
customary  with  me,  I  had  forgotten  in  my  interest  in 
other  things,  I  left  my  precious  bucket  at  the  head  of  the 
cabin  steps,  and  dashed  down  to  attend  to  them  before 


118  SHE  BL0WS1 

anybody  found  out.  The  cabin  stairs  were  very  steep  and 
narrow,  and  I  ran  plump  into  Mr.  Wallet  —  actually  col- 
lided with  him,  and.  bounced  off,  eliciting  a  grunt  and  a 
curse.  I  picked  myself  up,  and  he  paid  no  more  attention 
to  me,  but  went  on  up;  and  I  heard  him  stumble  at  the 
top,  and  curse  again,  violently.  I  chuckled,  and  thought 
no  more  about  it;  but  when  I  went  for  my  bucket  again,  I 
could  not  find  it.  Mr.  Wallet,  coming  up,  had  stumbled 
over  it,  and  had  been  angry,  and  forthwith  had  emptied 
it  over  the  side.  I  would  have  done  him  an  injury  if  I 
could,  and  I  hoped  he  might  run  foul  of  a  fighting  bull 
whale.  That  was  the  worst  thing  I  could  think  of. 

I  was  so  provoked  with  Mr.  Wallet  about  the  loss  of 
that  bucket  of  water  that  I  pretended  not  to  hear  him 
when  he  spoke  to  me  as  I  ran  to  the  forecastle  to  find 
Peter.  He  was  most  probably  only  going  to  give  me  a 
reprimand  —  which  I  deserved  —  for  leaving  the  bucket 
where  I  did,  and  when  I  seemed  not  to  hear  him,  he  did 
not  follow  me  up.  As  I  ran  forward  I  looked  over  the 
expanse  of  water  which  glittered  in  the  sun  under  the 
brisk  southerly  breeze,  but  I  saw  no  patches  of  weed.  As 
it  turned  out  I  did  not  get  another  bucket  of  weed  with 
its  strange  freight  of  life,  for  we  had  run  clear  of  it. 
Never  in  my  life  have  I  been  able  to  get  another  head  of 
sargasso-weed.  That  was  another  grudge  I  bore  Mr.  Wal- 
let, and  still  bear  him.  His  feelings  toward  me  were  none 
too  friendly. 

I  plunged  below  to  find  Peter  Bottom  and  pour  out  my 
grievances.  I  found  him  busy,  but  he  stopped  his  work  — 
I  did  not  even  glance  at  it  —  and  covered  it  with  his  hand, 
and  listened  until  I  had  emptied  my  heart.  When  at  last  I 
had  come  to  a  hesitating  stop  he  looked  up  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  eyes. 

"  Now  you  've  got  it  all  out,  Timmie,"  he  said,  "  you 
feel  better,  I  '11  warrant." 

I  did  feel  better,  and  not  so  angry  as  I  had  been.  But 


MR.  WALLET  119 

that  means  nothing.  I  have  always  been  like  that,  with  a 
hot  heart  that  cools  rapidly,  leaving  hardly  enough  re- 
sentment for  self-respect.  I  knew  it  even  then  for  a  fault. 
I  hold  that  anything  that  is  worth  such  hot  anger  as  I  felt 
demands  the  keeping  of  a  cold  resentment  long  enough  to 
do  some  good.  A  man  of  any  stability  would  do  that,  or 
he  would  not  get  so  angry.  Captain  Nelson  was  a  man  of 
stability,  and  I  was  already  beginning  to  think  Mr.  Brown 
even  more  so.  Mr.  Baker  was  an  ignorant  man,  except  in 
one  line,  and  he  was  hot-tempered  and  hard;  Mr.  Tilton 
was  even  more  ignorant,  although  even-tempered  enough, 
quick  in  decision  in  matters  which  he  knew  about,  and 
vigorous  in  action;  but  both  Mr.  Baker  and  Mr.  Tilton 
were  men  of  stability.  Mr.  Snow  was  regarded  as  a  little 
busybody;  but  nowhere  was  there  a  good  word  for  Mr. 
Wallet.  His  ignorance  was  stupendous,  his  talent  for  fail- 
ure was  great,  no  dependence  could  be  placed  on  him  in 
any  kind  of  a  pinch,  and  he  had  not  the  courage  of  a 
sheep.  It  was  more  or  less  of  a  mystery  how  he  got  his 
second  mate's  berth,  and  a  still  greater  mystery  how  he 
held  it. 

"  That  second  mate  's  not  worth  getting  mad  at,"  Peter 
said,  "  and  he  '11  get  his  deserts  sooner  or  later.  They 
'most  always  do.  Now  look.  I  told  you  I  had  something 
to  show  you,  and  here  it  is." 

With  that  he  lifted  his  hand  from  the  small  thing  it 
covered,  which  was  of  ivory,  one  of  the  larger  teeth  of 
our  only  whale.  This  thing  of  Peter's  was  already  plainly 
a  model  of  the  hull  of  the  Clearchus,  although  there  had 
not  been  time  to  do  more  than  roughly  shape  it.  Even 
with  the  largest  tooth  used  for  it,  the  model  was  on  a 
very  small  scale,  only  about  five  and  a  half  inches  long. 

I  forgot  entirely  my  grievance  against  the  second  mate, 
and  could  only  look  at  it  longingly,  as  a  dog  eyes  a  bone, 
licking  my  chops. 

Peter  laughed  to  see  me.  "  Do  you  know  what  it  is  to 
be,  then  ?  " 


120  SHE  BLOWS! 

"  Anybody  would  know  that.  It  will  be  beautiful,  Peter. 
Do  —  do  you  suppose  I  '11  ever  be  able  to  do  anything 
like  that  ?  " 

"  You  're  able  to  do  something  like  that  now.  It 's  noth- 
ing now,  but  you  wait  till  I  have  it  farther  along.  I  have 
to  shape  it  a  bit  more  to  make  it  a  true  copy  —  and  it 's 
going  to  be  a  true  copy,  Timmie  —  and  then  I  '11  cut  the 
deck  down  to  show  the  rail.  Every  plank,  chain  plate,  and 
bolt  that  shows  on  the  outside  of  the  ship  is  going  to  show 
on  this  model.  Then  I  have  to  build  the  deckhouses  out  of 
plates  of  ivory  scraped  thin,  and  build  the  try-works,  and 
step  ivory  masts,  and  rig  her  with  ivory  spars  and  ivory 
sails  scraped  thin  as  paper.  And  there 's  to  be  ivory 
blocks,  and  the  rigging  's  to  be  silk  thread.  It  '11  be  quite 
proper,  and  scraped  and  polished  till  it  shines.  I  have  it 
in  my  mind,  and  it  grows  as  I  get  on.  Aye,  it  '11  be  quite 
proper." 

It  was  quite  proper.  As  I  raise  my  eyes  to  the  mantel, 
there  sits  the  dainty  model  now.  Much  of  the  rigging  of 
silk  thread  is  rotten  and  brittle,  and  breaks  at  a  touch; 
but  the  rest  of  Peter's  handiwork  is  of  more  enduring 
stuff,  although  yellow  with  age.  It  makes  me  positively 
homesick  to  see  the  very  decks  that  I  trod,  the  wheel  un- 
der its  roof  and  the  rail  at  the  stern  upon  which  I  had 
leaned  so  many  times,  looking  over  the  sluggish  wake,  the 
gangway  with  the  cutting-stage  in  place,  the  great  blocks 
of  the  cutting-tackles,  the  try-works  with  the  bench 
against  its  after  side;  every  detail  of  the  ship  and  its  fit- 
tings reproduced,  even  to  the  boats  lashed  to  their  stiff 
davits,  the  cranes  swung  out  for  them  to  rest  upon,  and 
little  harpoons  and  lances  and  spades  in  place.  The  paper- 
thin,  translucent  ivory  sails  still  hang  from  their  ivory 
yards  and  belly  with  the  breeze.  It  makes  me  homesick, 
I  say,  and  makes  that  time  —  it  was  a  happy  time,  on  the 
whole  —  it  makes  that  time  even  more  real  than  does  my 
journal,  which  lies  before  me.  At  the  time  when  I  first 


WHALES'  TEETH  121 

saw  that  model,  however,  rough  as  it  then  was,  I  could 
only  gape  and  smile,  and  I  said  nothing  coherent,  I  think. 

The  teeth  that  were  used  for  scrimshawing  —  and  for 
many  other  purposes,  for  on  some  of  the  islands  of  the 
South  Seas  whales'  teeth  had  a  high  value  —  the  teeth 
were  salvaged  by  the  crew  after  the  cutting-in  and  trying- 
out  were  over.  I  have  described  the  cutting  off  of  the 
lower  jaw,  and  getting  it  on  deck,  where  it  was  put  at  one 
side,  out  of  the  way,  until  the  more  serious  business  of 
trying-out  the  oil  and  getting  it  below  decks  was  over. 
One  jaw  is  much  like  another;  that  is,  unless  it  happens 
to  be  deformed,  and  deformed  jaws  are  more  frequently 
seen  than  one  would  believe.  We  got  two,  and  one  of  them 
was  so  badly  deformed  that  the  tip  of  the  jaw  was  curled 
tightly  around  twice,  making  a  tight  spiral.  It  has  always 
been  a  mystery  to  me  how  a  whale  could  get  a  living  with 
a  jaw  like  that,  but  they  seem  to  have  no  difficulty  in  do- 
ing so.  Both  of  our  whales  with  freak  jaws  were  in  ex- 
cellent condition.  Deformation  of  the  jaws  is  supposed  to 
be  due  to  the  whales'  fighting  among  themselves.  I  know 
of  no  first-hand  information  on  that  point,  but  the  bull 
whales  certainly  fight  viciously  on  occasion.  A  deformed 
jaw,  however,  is  usually  cleaned  and  kept  for  museum 
purposes. 

Extracting  the  teeth  is  generally  an  occasion  for  hilar- 
ity among  the  crew.  You  will  see  the  hinge  of  the  great 
jaw  at  the  yardarm,  and  a  giggling,  shouting  mob,  armed 
with  spades  and  saws,  about  its  lower  end,  which  is  on 
the  deck.  A  whip  tackle  is  also  on  the  yard,  its  lower 
end  brought  down  to  the  deck.  Then  they  fall  to  with 
their  spades,  cutting  the  flesh  away  from  the  lower  part 
of  the  tooth  and  loosening  it,  and  completing  the  ex- 
traction by  main  strength,  very  much  after  the  fashion 
of  a  dentist,  but  by  means  of  the  falls  instead  of  for- 
ceps. Often  the  loop  slips  off  of  the  tooth  suddenly, 
letting  down  the  men  who  are  swaying  away  on  the  falls, 


122  SHE  BLOWS! 

and  starting  shouts  of  laughter.  Or  the  whole  strip  of 
teeth  may  come  together,  held  together  by  the  gums. 
When  the  teeth  have*  all  been  drawn  the  jaw  is  sawed 
into  slabs  for  convenient  use,  for  the  jawbone  is  very 
hard  and  close-grained. 

I  was  to  have  a  share  of  the  teeth  obtained  in  this  way. 
Peter  must  have  known  what  I  wanted,  for  he  produced 
a  slab  sawed  from  a  tooth,  and  started  me  at  once  on  an 
ivory  spoon,  on  which  I  was  busy  for  several  days,  in 
my  spare  time,  and  in  much  time  that  was  not  spare. 
Your  whaleman  gets  so  interested  in  his  scrimshawing 
very  often,  that  he  neglects  his  duties.  I  was  no  exception. 
The  spoon  was  intended  for  my  mother.  When  that  was 
done,  I  began  an  elaborate  pie-marker,  a  jagging- wheel, 
also  intended  for  my  mother,  and  changed  the  destination 
of  the  spoon  to  my  father.  The  pie-marker  consisted  of  a 
wheel,  the  edge  of  which  was  to  be  cut  in  very  intricate 
convolutions,  turning  in  an  ivory  handle.  I  planned  this 
handle  in  the  figure  of  a  sperm  whale  holding  the  wheel 
between  his  jaws,  and  I  meant  to  carve  him  within  an  inch 
of  his  life.  Peter  did  not  discourage  me,  probably  thinking 
that  my  plan  was  as  good  as  another  for  giving  me  prac- 
tice. I  did  carve  him  within  an  inch  of  his  life,  or  within 
rather  less  than  that;  but  I  was  not  satisfied  with  the  re- 
sult, and  tried  to  improve  it,  "  improving  "  it  several  times, 
and  at  last  producing  a  very  lean  and  skinny  whale.  I  did 
not  dare  to  make  further  improvements,  although  the  whale 
seemed  very  much  out  of  health.  The  carving  of  the  wheel, 
too,  left  something  to  be  desired,  and  the  convolutions 
were  less  intricate  than  I  hoped  for.  Peter  comforted  me 
somewhat  with  the  observation  that  it  would  be  easier  to 
clean,  and  that  if  I  had  made  it  as  I  had  planned,  it  would 
have  cut  out  a  great  many  little  pieces  of  dough,  which 
would  infallibly  have  got  stuck  in  it,  and  which  my  mother 
would  have  had  to  pick  out  with  a  sharp  knife  or  a  wire 
—  or  perhaps  a  hairpin.   That  was  Peter's   little  joke, 


HARPOONING  PORPOISE 


HARPOONING  PORPOISE  123 

not  mine.  My  mother  must  have  liked  her  pie-marker, 
crude  as  it  was,  for  she  used  it  as  long  as  she  lived,  and 
kept  it  hanging  from  a  hook  in  the  edge  of  the  kitchen 
shelf,  within  reach  of  her  hand.  She  never  had  to  use  a 
hair-pin  on  it. 

We  had  unbroken  good  weather,  with  variable  winds, 
mostly  southerly  or  easterly  during  the  first  part  of  the 
passage,  and  westerly  and  northerly  during  the  last  part, 
but  always  of  good  strength.  One  morning,  I  remember, 
there  was  a  great  school  of  porpoises  playing  about  the 
ship.  They  seemed  even  more  antic  than  usual,  leaping 
and  diving  and  playing  tag,  and  otherwise  showing  their 
contempt  for  a  vessel  which  could  not  go  any  faster  than 
the  Clearchus 

Their  cavortings  were  too  much  for  Aziel  Wright, 
George  Hall,  and  Miller,  three  of  the  boatsteerers.  They 
easily  got  permission,  and  Hall  was  first  with  a  porpoise- 
iron,  and  was  getting  out  on  the  jibboom.  Miller  got  down 
into  the  forechains,  Wright  staying  on  deck.  Hall  and 
Miller  got  their  porpoises,  and  then  more,  until  there 
were  half  a  dozen  thumping  the  deck.  The  whole  crew 
had  gathered,  and  the  men  laid  hold  of  the  line  when  a 
porpoise  was  struck,  and  hauled  him  on  deck  by  main 
strength. 

Then  they  killed  them.  It  seemed  to  me  a  horrid  job, 
but  I  watched  it,  as  boys  will  watch  horrid  jobs;  in  the 
same  spirit  which  used  to  prompt  me  to  go  occasionally 
to  John  Green's  slaughter-house,  and  see  steers  felled 
with  a  sledge,  and  have  their  throats  ripped  up  with  a 
sharp  knife  as  you  would  rip  up  an  old  boot  leg.  They 
used  to  kill  sheep  there  in  what  seemed  to  me  a  particu- 
larly brutal  manner,  and  I  have  seen  the  men  step  up 
nonchalantly  to  a  calf  hung  by  its  bound  hind  legs,  seize 
it  by  the  nose,  and  cut  its  head  off,  without  a  sound  of  re- 
monstrance from  the  calf.  These  methods  were  quite  usual 
at  the  time.  Boys  are  queer  little  savages. 


124  SHE  BLOWS! 

We  had  porpoise-steak  for  two  or  three  days  after  that, 
and  then  hash.  Porpoise-steak  tastes  pretty  good  to  a  man 
who  has  been  nearly  ..two  months  without  fresh  meat.  A 
porpoise  is  really  a  small  whale,  and  is  roughly  about  the 
size  of  a  swordfish.  There  must  be  comparatively  few 
people  who  have  not  seen  porpoises.  The  meat  is  much 
like  whale-meat,  but  more  tender  and  better  flavored. 

A  fine  oil  is  extracted  from  the  porpoise,  the  best  com- 
ing from  the  jaw.  The  porpoise  jaw-oil  is  used  for  chro- 
nometers and  watches.  Mr.  Baker  thought  we  might  as 
well  get  everything  the  porpoises  had  to  give,  and  he  had 
the  blubber  tried  out,  and  the  jaw-oil.  There  was  a  small 
quantity  of  jaw-oil,  to  which  we  added  later. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

In  1872  the  sperm  whale  had  almost  disappeared  from 
the  Atlantic  Ocean,  and  old  whalemen  thought  that  he 
was  doomed  to  practical  extinction.  For  twenty  years  or 
more  sperm-whaling  voyages  had  been  lengthened  to  an 
average  of  nearly  four  years,  and  it  had  been  necessary 
to  hunt  him  over  all  the  tropic  and  temperate  seas  of  the 
world.  I  had  reason  to  believe  that  Captain  Nelson  had 
not  really  expected  to  find  any  whales  on  the  Hatteras 
grounds,  and  I  know  that  he  expected  to  find  none  on  the 
Western  grounds.  Besides,  it  was  late  in  the  season  by 
the  time  we  reached  the  Western  grounds,  and  it  was 
likely  that  the  whales  would  have  disappeared,  if  they 
had  been  there  at  all.  The  mastheads  were  kept  manned, 
however,  as  they  were  pretty  generally. 

We  were  rolling  along  easily  in  a  light  westerly  breeze 
when  Alexander,  a  Kanaka  from  Mr.  Tilton's  boat, 
sounded  his  falsetto  cry  from  the  foremasthead.  It  was 
early  in  the  forenoon,  and  I  was  busy  below;  but  I  heard 
the  quick  patter  of  feet  on  deck,  and  I  knew  what  it 
meant.  So  I  dropped  everything  just  where  I  stood,  and 
ran  up.  I  happened  to  see  the  spout  at  once,  a  beautiful, 
light,  feathery  thing  in  the  bright  sunlight,  more  like  the 
drooping  ostrich  plume  than  ever.  There  was  but  the  one 
spout,  repeated  lazily  at  intervals,  although  the  others  of 
the  pod,  if  there  were  others,  might  have  sounded,  and  be 
feeding.  The  volume  of  the  spout  and  the  force  with 
which  it  was  expelled,  as  well  as  the  interval  between 
spouts,  indicated  a  full-grown  bull. 

The  whale  had  been  sighted  off  the  port  bow,  and  was 
now  nearly  abeam  of  us,  going  slowly  to  the  westward, 
and  making  a  course  which  took  him  nearer  to  the  ship  as 


126  SHE  BLOWS! 

he  went  on.  Mr.  Brown  was  already  away,  with  the  light 
westerly  breeze  abeam,  to  head  him  off.  Mr.  Wallet,  as 
usual,  was  some  minutes  longer  in  getting  his  sail  up,  and 
in  getting  under  way.  He  headed  still  more  to  the  west- 
ward. We  began  to  wear  ship,  and  to  change  our  course 
to  follow  them. 

The  boats  went  on,  getting  nearer  the  course  of  the 
whale,  which  continued  to  swim  with  great  deliberation. 
He  seemed  to  be  bent  upon  getting  nowhere  in  particu- 
lar, and  likely  to  achieve  his  purpose.  By  the  time  the 
ship  had  got  on  her  new  course  Mr.  Brown  had  already 
taken  in  his  sail  and  got  his  mast  down,  and  the  men  were 
paddling  until  the  whale  should  discover  them.  Mr.  Wal- 
let should  have  done  the  same  thing.  He  was  near  enough ; 
but  he  delayed,  as  he  did  invariably,  a  little  too  long. 
Just  after  he  had  given  the  order,  and  while  his  men  were 
busy  with  the  mast,  —  they  had  made  a  little  more  noise 
than  necessary,  perhaps,  —  the  whale  saw  them,  no 
doubt  imperfectly.  He  hesitated  for  an  instant,  then 
raised  his  flukes  and  lobtailed,  the  blow  on  the  water 
making  a  noise  which  sounded,  to  us  on  the  ship,  like  the 
report  of  a  big  gun,  and  raised  a  cataract  of  spray  and 
green  water.  This  drenched  the  men  in  Mr.  Brown's  boat, 
who  had  paddled  up  on  him  from  behind  and  were  trying 
to  get  into  position  to  sink  their  irons  just  behind  the 
side  fin.  Wright  was  standing  in  the  bow,  a  harpoon  in  his 
hands,  and  the  boat  was  just  even  with  the  flukes.  I  saw 
the  men  suddenly  give  way  hard  —  they  had  no  time  to 
change  to  their  oars ;  then  the  whale  started  for  Mr.  Wal- 
let's boat,  and  Wright  let  go  both  his  irons,  getting  both 
fast,  but  well  back  toward  the  small  instead  of  near  the 
side  fin,  where  he  had  hoped  to  place  them. 

The  sting  of  the  irons  only  served  to  make  him  the 
more  furious  and  bent  upon  destruction,  and  he  rushed 
full-tilt  upon  Mr.  Wallet.  Mr.  Brown  dropped  back,  the 
men  put  aside  their  paddles,  and  I  saw  two  or  three  turns 


AN  ANGRY  WHALE  127 

taken  about  the  loggerhead.  Then  Wright  came  aft,  and 
Mr.  Brown  took  his  place  in  the  bow,  with  a  lance  in  his 
hand.  A  thin  wreath  of  blue  smoke  rose  from  the  logger- 
head, although  they  were  throwing  water  upon  the  line. 
Wright  took  another  turn,  and  the  boat  plunged  wildly 
through  the  sea  after  the  whale. 

The  whale  seemed  to  be  annoyed  by  the  drag  of  the 
boat  all  on  one  side  of  him.  I  thought  I  saw  him  gnash 
his  jaws,  although  they  were  kicking  up  such  a  fuss  that 
I  could  not  be  sure.  The  ship  was  less  than  half  a  mile 
away,  and  the  ship  and  the  whale  were  slowly  working 
nearer  each  other.  It  must  have  been  the  drag  of  the  boat 
which  caused  the  whale  to  miss  Mr.  Wallet's  boat,  which 
he  did  by  a  very  narrow  margin,  coming  up  for  the  attack 
about  an  oar's  length  from  the  starboard  side,  and  abeam. 
That  seemed  to  put  him  beside  himself  with  fury,  and  he 
turned  at  once  upon  Mr.  Brown,  shaking  his  head  and 
gnashing  his  jaws.  As  he  turned,  George  Hall  saw  his 
chance  and  planted  his  irons  deep  in  his  other  side.  If 
Mr.  Wallet  had  been  of  the  quality  of  Hall  or  of  some 
others  of  his  men,  he  would  have  done  uniformly  better. 

Hall's  irons  served  to  confuse  the  whale  a  little,  al- 
though not  to  shake  his  purpose  of  destroying  Mr.  Brown's 
boat.  He  hesitated  for  an  instant,  but  immediately  went 
on,  and  disappeared  a  short  distance  from  the  boat.  He 
had  not  sounded,  however,  which  could  be  told  from  the 
way  Mr.  Wallet's  line  was  going  out.  Hall  had  changed 
places  with  Mr.  Wallet,  and  had  three  or  four  turns  around 
the  loggerhead,  although  not  enough  to  check  the  line  en- 
tirely. I  saw  the  men  in  Mr.  Brown's  boat  back  water  as 
hard  as  they  could,  and  the  next  instant  the  whale's  huge 
head  shot  out  of  the  water  just  ahead  of  the  boat,  the 
jaws  gnashing.  The  lower  jaw  seemed  to  be  crumpled  up 
at  the  tip.  He  just  missed  the  boat  completely,  but  got  the 
whale  line  between  his  jaws,  and  chewed  it,  getting  a  tooth 
through  it,  as  I  found  out  later,  and  fraying  the  line  badly. 


128  SHE  BLOWS! 

He  came  up  out  of  the  water  so  far  that  his  side  fin 
showed,  and  the  ends  of  Hall's  harpoons,  and  Mr.  Brown 
seized  that  moment^  to  lance  him.  He  got  in  two  thrusts 
with  the  lance,  and  when  he  withdrew  it,  its  shank  was 
bent  almost  at  right  angles.  He  did  not  stop  to  straighten 
it,  but  seized  another,  which,  however,  he  had  no  chance 
to  use. 

As  the  whale  went  on,  Mr.  Brown's  line  slipped  off  his 
tooth.  The  teeth  of  the  sperm  whale  are  roughly  conical 
in  shape,  and  curved  slightly  backward,  with  a  consider- 
able space  between  them;  and  there  are  no  teeth  in  the 
upper  jaw.  This  will  account  for  the  fact  that  the  line 
was  not  bitten  in  two  at  once.  The  lines  were  crossed,  too, 
for  Wright's  harpoons  were  in  the  left  side  of  the  whale, 
while  the  boat  from  which  they  had  come  was  now  on  his 
right  side;  and  Mr.  Wallet's  boat  had  been  on  his  right 
side  when  Hall  planted  his  irons,  but  was  now  behind 
him  and  well  to  his  left.  Both  lines  had  slipped  over  his 
back.  Mr.  Brown's  men  had  been  unable  to  take  in  the 
slack  of  their  line  as  fast  as  the  whale  had  come,  and  by 
some  mischance  the  whale  had  got  a  turn  around  his  jaw. 
By  a  further  mischance,  the  whale  turned  again  in  the 
same  direction,  twisting  the  lines  over  his  back,  and 
going  over  Mr.  Wallet's  line  this  time.  He  was  pretty 
well  tangled  in  the  lines,  and  Mr.  Wallet's  was  wrapped 
about  his  body  once.  Mr.  Brown's  men  were  heaving  in 
on  their  line  as  fast  as  they  could,  and  when,  in  the 
whale's  frantic  career,  it  suddenly  came  taut,  it  gripped 
his  jaw  like  an  Indian  halter.  This  seemed  to  throw  him 
into  a  frenzy.  He  stopped,  lobtailed  several  times,  as 
rapidly  as  such  a  huge  mechanism  can,  lashing  the  water 
into  foam,  and  caught  sight  of  the  ship,  not  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  away.  Before  either  of  the  boats  could  haul  up  on 
him,  he  had  started  for  her  at  full  speed.  Mr.  Brown's 
line  parted  at  the  frayed  spot;  and  before  the  whale  had 
gone  very  far,  Mr.  Wallet  reached  down  to  the  hatchet  at 
his  knees,  raised  it  above  his  head,  and  cut. 


A  HARD  FIGHT  129 

What  impelled  Mr.  Wallet  to  cut  I  do  not  know.  Very 
probably  he  was  simply  afraid  —  panic-struck;  although 
cutting  loose  from  a  fighting  whale,  vicious  and  fren- 
zied, and  bent  upon  the  destruction  of  the  boats,  is  per- 
haps not  uncommon.  But  this  whale,  although  vicious 
and  frenzied,  had  done  no  harm  to  the  boats,  so  far,  and 
cutting  did  not  seem  justified.  It  seemed  even  less  justi- 
fied to  the  officers  and  men  than  it  did  to  me.  As  Peter 
told  me,  in  confidence,  he  thought  there  must  be  some- 
thing wrong  with  that  whale's  sight  or  sense  of  direction, 
for  he  had  missed  his  aim  every  time;  missed  by  a  little, 
but  he  had  missed.  It  was  not  necessary  for  him  to  say 
what  he  thought  of  our  second  mate  for  cutting.  I  knew 
well  enough. 

The  whale's  very  obvious  intention  was  to  ram  us,  and 
we  knew  what  the  consequences  might  be.  The  wheel  was 
thrown  hard  over,  and  two  of  the  officers  ran  below.  I 
have  said  that  the  old  Clearchus  was  slow  in  minding 
her  helm,  but  she  never  seemed  so  slow  as  she  did  on  that 
occasion.  Mr.  Tilton  and  Mr.  Baker  had  taken  the  two 
bomb  guns,  which  the  men  had  brought  up  from  below, 
before  the  ship  had  changed  her  course  five  degrees.  She 
went  a  little  faster  after  that,  but  her  course  was  not 
changed  many  degrees  when  the  whale  was  upon  us.  The 
two  bomb  lances  were  fired  over  the  quarter  when  he 
was  less  than  half  a  dozen  fathoms  away.  They  must  have 
made  a  tremendous  commotion  in  the  interior  of  the  whale, 
for  I  could  see  him  shiver,  but  he  did  not  stop  swimming 
immediately,  although  there  was  no  power  in  his  move- 
ments. He  came  on,  and  struck  the  ship  a  glancing  blow 
on  the  quarter  which  shook  her  from  keel  to  trucks,  and  I 
thought  the  foretopgallantmast  would  come  down.  The 
Admiral,  up  there  in  the  hoops,  was  shaken  about  like  a 
pea  in  a  box. 

After  the  blow,  the  whale  stopped  swimming,  and 
rested  quietly  just  astern  of  the  ship  —  except  for  his 


130  SHE  BLOWS! 

shivering.  It  was  then  that  Peter  remarktri  to  me  on  his 
defective  sight,  and  observed  further  that  if  he  had  had  a 
grain  of  sense,  he  irould  have  taken  the  chance  of  Mr. 
Wallet's  cutting  to  get  clean  away,  which  he  might  have 
done  perfectly  well.  Then  Mr.  Baker,  thinking  to  put  a 
quick  end  to  him,  I  suppose,  fired  another  bomb  lance 
into  him.  This  had  just  the  opposite  effect.  The  whale 
stirred  —  no  doubt  he  would  have  roared  if  that  were 
customary  with  whales  —  and  turned,  and  made  for  the 
boats. 

He  missed  again,  but  passed  between  them  with  open 
jaws,  so  close  to  Mr.  Wallet's  boat  that  he  gathered  in 
and  crushed  to  splinters  both  oars  on  the  port  side,  and 
almost  swamped  the  boat  with  the  wave  he  made.  Mr. 
Brown  was  a  little  astern  of  Mr.  Wallet,  and  as  the  whale 
passed  him,  he  gave  a  deep  thrust  with  the  lance.  He  had 
no  time  to  withdraw  it,  although  he  tried  to,  and  bent  the 
shank  of  the  lance  in  his  attempt. 

That  was  not  the  end  of  misfortune.  The  frayed  end 
of  line  from  Mr.  Brown's  boat  was  not  completely  hauled 
in,  and  there  were  some  fathoms  still  hanging  down 
from  the  bow.  The  whale  caught  this  frayed  end  between 
his  jaws  as  he  passed,  and  worried  it  as  a  terrier  does  a 
string.  The  effect  was  the  same  as  if  it  had  still  been  fast 
to  the  iron  in  his  body.  The  line  tautened  instantly,  and 
whirled  the  bow  around,  and  then,  as  no  attention  was 
being  given  to  the  loggerhead  end  of  a  frayed  line  with  a 
few  fathoms  over  the  bow,  it  began  to  snake  out  of  its  tub. 
I  do  not  know  how  it  happened  —  nobody  knew  —  but 
Wright  somehow  got  a  kink  in  the  line  around  his  leg,  and 
was  snaked  the  length  of  the  boat,  kicking  three  men  in  the 
head  on  his  meteoric  course  and  out  at  the  bow.  Mr.  Brown 
and  Wright  had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing  without  the 
kicking-strap.  I  have  explained  the  kicking-strap.  It  is 
a  piece  of  heavy  line  which  extends  loosely  along  the 
top  of  the  clumsy  cleat,  and  has  its  ends  knotted  under. 


A  MAN  ALMOST  LOST  131 

The  whale  line  passes  under  it  on  its  way  to  the  groove 
in  the  stem..  There  was  nothing,  therefore,  to  stop  Wright 
except  the  frail  peg  in  the  stem,  and  breaking  the  peg  was 
nothing  to  him.  He  disappeared  overboard. 

Everybody  in  the  boat  had  given  him  up  when,  sud- 
denly, the  line  went  slack,  and  Wright  shot  to  the  surface. 
He  had  somehow  managed  to  whip  out  his  knife  and  cut 
the  line.  They  got  him  aboard  the  boat  at  once.  It  was 
very  nearly  the  end  of  poor  Wright.  He  was  in  great  pain 
and  almost  done,  his  hip  dislocated,  although  no  bones 
were  broken. 

That  was  about  the  end  of  the  whale.  He  went  on  for  a 
little  way,  enveloped  by  the  twisting  lines.  Then  he 
stopped,  shivered  once  more,  and  went  into  his  flurry, 
spouting  thick,  black  blood.  That  flurry,  as  I  think  of  it 
now,  could  not  have  been  pleasant  to  see,  but  I  do  not  re- 
member that  it  aroused  any  disgust  in  me  at  the  time. 
It  was  not  far  from  the  ship,  and  I  can  only  recollect  a 
consuming  curiosity,  on  my  part,  to  see  him  die,  and 
how  he  did  it.  It  could  not  have  differed  very  much,  ex- 
cept in  the  size  of  the  beast,  from  the  scenes  at  John 
Green's  slaughter-house. 

When  the  whale  was  alongside,  and  the  cutting-in  was 
under  way,  we  found  that  one  eye  was  sightless  and  al- 
most gone.  This  may  have  been  due  to  fighting,  as  the 
twisted  jaw  was  supposed  to  be  due  to  that  cause.  I  ex- 
amined the  jaw  carefully  when  it  was  on  deck,  as  did 
most  of  the  crew.  The  tip  of  the  jaw  was  bent  sidewise, 
about  two  feet  of  it.  It  was  a  mystery  to  me,  and  ever 
since  has  remained  a  mystery,  how  the  jawbone  of  a  full- 
grown  whale  could  be  so  bent.  I  could  understand  how  it 
might  be  broken,  but  to  be  bent  as  this  was,  or  to  be  curled 
around  in  a  spiral,  as  was  the  case  in  our  later  specimen, 
it  seemed  to  me  that  it  would  have  had  to  be  done  while 
the  whale  was  young,  and  the  bone  soft  and  cartilaginous. 
I  could  not  imagine  whales  of  that  tender  age  fighting 


132  SHE  BLOWSI 

fiercely  enough  to  bend  a  jaw  or  put  out  an  eye,  and  I 
should  be  convinced  —  as  to  the  bending  of  the  jaw  — 
only  by  actually  seeing  the  jaw  of  a  whale  bent  in  a  fight 
with  another'  whale.  It  might  be  sufficient  if  I  heard  of 
such  an  occurrence  from  a  man  in  whose  powers  of  obser- 
vation and  in  whose  veracity  I  had  absolute  confidence; 
but  who  would  believe  the  yarn  of  the  average  whale- 
man? Whalemen  are  notoriously  inaccurate  observers, 
anyway. 

This  whale  was  an  old  one,  rather  old  for  a  whale,  al- 
though by  no  means  decrepit.  What  that  means  in  years 
of  life  I  do  not  know.  The  natural  life  of  a  whale,  bar- 
ring accidents,  would  be  expected  to  be  of  the  same  order 
as  the  life  of  an  elephant,  which  is  popularly  believed  to 
live  to  a  great  age,  from  one  hundred  to  three  hundred 
years.  I  should  think  that  a  whale  three  hundred  years 
old  would  yield  little  oil;  and  this  whale  of  ours  made 
nearly  sixty  barrels. 

Poor  Wright!  We  had  no  surgeon,  of  course,  better 
than  the  captain  and  Mr.  Wallet.  Wallet  was  a  whale- 
surgeon.  Wright  was  in  great  pain  for  over  a  week,  until 
we  got  into  Fayal,  and  his  thigh  swelled  to  great  size.  I 
used  to  hear  him  groaning  at  night  in  a  subdued  fashion. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

We  sighted  no  more  whales,  and  made  for  the  Azores  as 
fast  as  the  old  Clearchus  would  go,  which  was  not  at  a 
dizzying  speed.  Wright  was  in  such  distress  that  the  old 
man  was  anxious  to  get  him  ashore  as  soon  as  possible. 
He  intended  to  call  at  Fayal,  anyway.  In  addition  to 
Wright's  necessities,  there  was  some  slight  refitting  to  be 
attended  to,  he  wanted  another  spare  whaleboat,  some 
oars,  provisions,  and  other  small  matters.  He  expected 
to  meet  the  tender  there,  too.  The  tender  of  the  whaling 
fleet  was  a  schooner,  not  what  would  be  called  fast,  but 
faster  than  any  whaler.  She  would  take  home  the  little 
oil  we  had,  would  have  letters  written  since  we  left,  and 
would  take  whatever  letters  we  had  to  send.  I  wrote  up 
my  journal  fully,  and  wrote  letters  to  my  father  and 
my  mother.  I  did  not  seal  these,  but  left  them  to  be  added 
to  at  the  last  minute. 

That  whale  led  indirectly  to  an  adventure  of  my  own. 
I  have  spoken  of  the  practical  joke  which  a  green  hand 
tried  to  play  on  Black  Tony,  "  The  Prince,"  as  we  all 
called  him.  The  green  hand  was  Lupo,  a  Portuguese  who 
pulled  midship  oar  in  Mr.  Brown's  boat,  in  which  the 
Prince  had  the  bow  oar.  I  do  not  know  the  real  cause  of 
the  attempt,  and  it  is  not  important,  but  probably  jeal- 
ousy wag  at  the  bottom  of  it.  There  was  real  malice  in  it, 
although  Lupo  meant  that  it  should  pass  for  a  joke.  It 
happened  just  at  twilight.  I  did  not  see  the  whole  of  it, 
only  the  Prince  standing  on  the  rail,  the  sharp  spade  in 
his  hand  instinctively  raised  to  strike,  his  head  up,  the 
most  utter  contempt  in  his  gaze,  as  he  looked  down  at 
Lupo  from  under  half-closed  eyelids.  He  reminded  me  of 
a  tiger,  and  very  probably  he  reminded  Lupo  of  one,  too. 


134  SHE  BLOWS! 

Lupo  was  paralyzed  with  fear.  The  Prince  smiled  slowly 
and  contemptuously,  and  slowly  lowered  the  spade,  but 
said  nothing,  and  Lupo  moved.  He  passed  near  me  —  I 
was  in  the  shadow  of  the  foremast  —  muttering  curses 
and  threats  as  he  went. 

After  that  I  was  on  the  watch  for  them  both,  and 
about  an  hour  later  I  saw  them.  The  Prince  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  Lupo's  existence,  but  I  had  not,  and  I  kept 
in  the  shadow  and  watched  him  closely,  as  he  edged  nearer 
and  nearer  to  the  place  where  the  Prince  was  working.  We 
were  trying-out,  and  everybody  was  busy.  Lupo  himself 
was  supposed  to  be  busy.  He  kept  one  hand  back  by  his 
hip  —  on  a  knife,  as  it  turned  out  —  and  in  the  other 
hand  he  carried  either  a  mincing-knife  or  a  boarding- 
knife.  The  light  was  too  poor  and  uncertain  for  me  to  be 
sure  which  it  was,  but  either  was  a  formidable  weapon. 
I  remember  just  the  feeling  I  had  at  the  roots  of  my  hair, 
and  the  prickling  all  over  my  body,  and  the  way  I  smiled, 
for  I  found  myself  about  to  leap  on  him.  I  did  not  make 
up  my  mind  to  do  it,  I  simply  found  that  I  was  going  to 
do  it,  and  I  was  filled  with  an  exaltation  of  joy  at  the 
knowledge.  Call  it  what  you  will  and  explain  it  how  you 
may,  it  was  pure  joy  of  a  kind  that  I  have  known  many 
times  since,  but  never  equal  to  that  first  time. 

Well  —  I  leaped  just  as  he  was  raising  his  weapon, 
whatever  it  was,  and  as  I  leaped  I  gave  a  little  nervous 
laugh  of  excitement.  He  had  not  seen  me,  and  he  was 
startled,  and  dropped  his  weapon,  which  clattered  on  the 
deck.  I  seized  him  about  the  body,  pinning  his  elbows  to 
his  sides ;  but  he  was  larger  and  stronger  than  I  was,  and 
partially  freed  them.  I  felt  a  warm  sting  in  my  hip,  and 
knew  that  he  had  used  his  knife.  Then  I  got  thoroughly 
mad.  When  I  was  in  that  condition  I  felt  nothing,  blows, 
knife  thrusts,  or  anything  else.  It  is  a  curious  phenome- 
non, and  I  suppose  nqjb  peculiar  to  myself,  that  in  such  a 
situation,  when  my  rage  is  once  completely  aroused  —  it 


FIGHT  WITH  LUPO  135 

never  took  much  to  rouse  it  —  I  seemed  to  lose  all  sense  of 
pain,  all  feeling.  It  was  always  so  with  me,  even  as  a  very 
small  boy.  I  attacked  Lupo  in  a  fury  with  hands  and  feet 
and  teeth.  What  he  did  to  me  I  did  not  know. 

The  fight  did  not  last  long.  Suddenly  he  went  down; 
inexplicably  to  me  until  my  vision  cleared,  and  I  saw  Lupo 
lying  at  full  length  on  the  deck,  and  the  Prince  stooping 
over  him,  holding  a  mincing-knife  at  his  throat  like  the 
knife  of  a  guillotine.  I  fully  expected  to  see  him  beheaded 
on  the  instant.  I  wanted  to  see  his  head  roll  away,  and 
blood  spurting  from  his  neck. 

"  You  move,  "  whispered  the  Prince,  "  and  —  ** 

Lupo  heard  the  whisper,  and  he  did  not  move,  for  the 
edge  of  the  knife  was  in  contact  with  his  throat.  Then 
others  came,  and  the  Prince  rose  to  his  feet,  laid  down  his 
mincing-knife  quietly,  and  came  and  stood  by  me,  while 
Lupo  was  led  away. 

"  You  hurt,  Tim  ?  "  asked  the  Prince.  "  He  knife  you  ?  " 

I  laughed  a  little  nervously.  The  sense  of  feeling  had 
not  come  back  completely. 

"  I  guess  so/'  I  answered,  "  but  I  don't  feel  it." 

*'  Le's  see,"  he  said.  He  took  up  a  lantern  and  looked 
me  over.  Lupo's  knife  had  found  only  certain  soft  portions 
of  my  anatomy,  and  those  far  from  any  vital  part. 

The  Prince  laughed.  "  I  see.  All  right.  No  harm,  but 
you  not  sit  down  much  for  a  while.  Better  go  to  the  old 
man  and  get  fixed  up,  though.  Good  boy,  Tim !  Great  boy ! 
You  make  good  fight.  Tony  won't  forget.  He  won't  forget." 

All  this  time  he  was  patting  my  shoulder.  Then,  as  I  did 
not  move,  he  led  me  aft,  keeping  his  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"  Now  go  below,"  he  said,  giving  me  a  gentle  push 
toward  the  cabin  stairs. 

I  found  Captain  Nelson  there,  sitting  at  the  cabin 
table.  The  row  on  deck  had  been  noiseless,  and  he  had 
not  been  disturbed.  He  fixed  me  up  with  some  simple 
remedy. 


136  SHE  BLOWS! 

"  It  '11  bleed  a  few  minutes,"  he  said.  "  Let  it.  Now 
tell  me  the  whole  story.  Been  in  a  fight,  have  you?  " 

I  told  him  the  whole  story,  and  he  made  no  comment 
whatever,  although  I  was  expecting  something,  whether 
praise  or  blame  I  did  not  know.  I  never  felt  sure  how  he 
would  take  any  of  my  exploits.  But  he  said  nothing,  and 
I  bade  him  good-night,  and  went  to  turn  in.  I  did  not  go 
to  sleep  immediately.  My  wounds  gave  me  no  pain  what- 
ever, but  I  was  still  in  a  condition  of  excitement. 

In  the  morning,  however,  I  was  so  sore  and  lame  that  I 
dressed  with  difficulty.  We  were  under  way  again,  and 
Wright  was  no  worse,  although  he  certainly  was  no  better. 
He  told  me  that  they  had  Lupo  in  irons,  and  that  they 
would  hand  him  over  to  the  consul  in  Fayal,  who  would 
want  my  story  again.  This  piece  of  information  elated 
me,  while  filling  me  with  apprehension  and  nervousness. 
I  must  be  sure  that  I  had  my  story  straight,  and  I  wrote 
it  out  at  once,  while  it  was  all  fresh  in  my  mind. 

Later  in  that  day  I  was  studying  trigonometry,  and 
found  myself  beyond  my  depth,  when  Mr.  Brown  came 
along.  I  was  immersed  in  mathematics,  and  thinking  of 
nothing  but  spherical  angles.  He  stood  for  a  few  minutes, 
watching  me,  and  half  smiling  to  himself. 

"  Tim,"  he  said  at  last. 

I  looked  up,  startled  at  his  abruptness. 

"Yes,    sir?" 

"  I  guess  that  you  had  no  intention  of  getting  in  that 
fight,  but  suddenly  found  yourself  in  it.  Is  n't  that  so  ?  " 

"  Well  —  yes,  sir."  I  did  not  like  to  tell  him  of  my  joy 
in  it,  or  of  my  blind  fury,  but  he  must  have  guessed  that 
too. 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  like  to  fight." 

"  Well —  I  did  n't  know  that  I  liked  it,  sir." 

"It 's  right  that  you  should  like  it,  in  a  good  cause,  but 
you  '11  have  to  be  on  your  guard.  I  like  it  —  or  I  used  to 
—  and  it  let  me  in  for  these. " 


MR.  BROWN  137 

With  that  he  opened  his  shirt,  and  showed  me  three 
old  scars  almost  over  his  heart.  I  gaped  at  them. 

"Just  escaped  with  my  life,"  he  added,  smiling  again. 
"  My  ribs  stopped  it.  And  I  have  other  scars.  And  the 
cause  was  n't  good.  I  show  you  these  only  to  let  you  know 
that  I  know  what  I  am  talking  about.  Be  on  your  guard, 
boy." 

I  was  still  gaping  up  at  him.  "  Where?  "  I  asked. 

"  Batavia, "  he  answered  shortly,  "  years  ago.  I  had 
got  down  pretty  far.  I  don't  want  you  to.  Now  let 's  see 
what  bothers  you." 

So  we  took  up  that  question  of  angles.  I  had  forgotten 
it. 

When  we  had  finished  our  session,  I  went  on  deck.  It 
was  nearly  five  o'clock,  or  two  bells.  The  breeze  had 
lightened,  and  the  old  ship  lumbered  along  lazily,  pitch- 
ing slowly  in  the  swells,  and  now  and  then  throwing 
sheets  of  spray  from  her  forefoot  when  a  sea  chanced 
to  break  with  it.  I  could  not  see  it,  but  I  could  hear  it.  I 
stood  behind  the  steersman,  and  I  forgot  Batavia  and  Mr. 
Brown  as  I  looked  out  astern  over  our  slowly  seething 
wake  in  a  golden  ocean,  with  crimson  lights,  and  with 
shadows  of  dark  green  and  blue  in  the  seas  which  chased 
us.  The  crew  were  finishing  the  cleaning  up  of  the  ship 
with  ashes  from  the  try-works,  and  their  noise  sounded 
faintly  behind  me.  I  lost  myself  once  more. 

There  was  no  land  in  sight,  and  no  vessel,  nothing 
but  that  gently  heaving,  golden  ocean ;  but  I  imagined  that 
the  Elizabeth  Islands  were  concealed  behind  haze  on 
the  horizon,  and  that  I  was  bound  home  across  the  Bay. 
I  wondered  how  my  father  would  seem,  and  what  he  was 
doing  at  that  moment;  and  I  saw  in  imagination  my 
mother's  face  as  she  caught  sight  of  me.  I  knew  what 
she  would  be  doing  at  that  moment.  She  would  be  cook- 
ing supper  —  perhaps  it  was  half  an  hour  too  early  to  be 
cooking  supper,  but  soon  she  would  be  cooking  supper; 


138  SHE  BLOWS! 

or  frying  doughnuts,  although  she  was  more  apt  to  do  that 
in  the  morning;  or  making  soda  biscuit.  I  could  just  see 
the  great  pan  of  them,  and  mother  stooping  before  the 
open  oven  door.  We  had  a  plenty  of  good,  homely  food,  and 
mother's  soda  biscuits  were  —  well,  they  were  mother's 
soda  biscuits.  There  was  nothing  like  them. 

We  got  into  Fayal  in  about  a  week.  Wright  was  taken 
ashore  the  first  thing,  and  put  into  the  hands  of  a  surgeon. 
We  left  him  there.  His  hip  was  pretty  bad,  and  he  was 
really  sick  besides.  He  had  consumption,  although  he 
would  not  acknowledge  it.  He  went  back  to  New  Bedford 
on  the  tender,  which  left  after  we  did,  and  I  am  afraid  we 
all  forgot  him  quickly. 

Lupo  was  delivered  to  our  consul,  and  was  also  sent  back 
on  the  tender,  according  to  the  best  recollection  I  have  of 
the  matter  to  be  tried  in  New  Bedford  —  or  in  the  Federal 
Court  in  that  district.  I  had  to  sign  and  swear  to  a  depo- 
sition, which  was  merely  a  copy  of  my  journal  of  the  fight. 
When  that  duty  was  over  I  felt  much  better,  for  it  had 
weighed  on  my  mind  for  some  days,  although  it  turned 
out  to  be  nothing  but  a  formality,  and  the  consul  was  very 
kind  and  friendly,  as  was  everybody  concerned  except 
Lupo.  I  do  not  know  what  became  of  him. 

The  tender  was  waiting  for  us.  I  finished  up  my  journal, 
so  far,  and  my  letters.  The  letters  were  not  long,  for  all 
my  narrative  was  contained  in  my  journal.  There  was  a 
long  letter  from  my  mother,  filled  with  the  news  of 
home  since  I  had  left,  and  with  the  kind  of  thing  that 
mothers'  letters  are  always  filled  with.  Boys  treat  them 
carelessly  sometimes,  and  affect  not  to  value  them,  but 
they  always  do  value  them,  I  think.  My  father  had  writ- 
ten a  postscript  to  my  mother's  letter,  not  long,  for  my 
father  never  wrote  long  letters,  and  was  not  given  to  that 
form  of  self-expression  —  to  any  form  of  self-expression, 
for  that  matter.  I  wore  that  letter  to  a  rag,  carrying  it 
about  with  me,  and  reading  it  and  re-reading  it.  It  brought 


SHORE  LIBERTY  AT  FAYAL        139 

back  my  homesickness.  I  rather  cherished  my  homesick- 
ness, I  think. 

We  had  about  a  hundred  barrels  of  oil  to  send  home, 
and  to  be  put  aboard  the  tender,  supplies  and  provisions 
to  get,  and  a  whaleboat  if  we  could,  and  two  men  to  recruit 
to  take  the  places  of  Wright  and  Lupo,  and  we  were  likely 
to  stay  there  four  or  five  days  at  least. 

Some  of  us  were  given  liberty  ashore,  and  Peter,  the 
Prince,  Black  Man'el,  and  I  undertook  a  tour  into  the 
interior.  I  cannot  now  remember  much  about  that  trip. 
I  know  that  we  wandered  about  the  town  for  a  half  a  day, 
and  saw  a  little  white  and  ancient-looking  chapel,  which 
we  were  told  that  Columbus  had  visited  on  his  return  from 
discovering  America;  and  that  we  traveled  on  foot  into 
the  country.  Fayal  is  less  mountainous  than  most  of  the 
other  islands,  but  the  roads  were  not  good.  On  the  high 
ground  back  from  the  town  we  passed  farms,  and  many 
small,  round,  terraced  areas,  not  much  bigger  than  a  barn 
floor,  with  low  walls  of  small  boulders.  They  were  floored 
with  a  very  hard  sort  of  clay.  I  believe  these  areas  were 
used  as  threshing-floors.  I  remember  best  that  I  was 
pretty  sore  still. 

Our  oil  was  transferred,  supplies  and  provisions  on 
board,  the  new  men  shipped,  and  Captain  Nelson  im- 
patient to  get  away;  but  several  of  the  liberty  men  were 
not  back,  and  although  their  liberty  was  not  up  until  the 
next  day  Mr.  Tilton  was  sent  ashore  with  two  men  to  find 
them.  Mr.  Tilton  knew  the  places  in  Fayal  where  they 
would  be  likely  to  be,  and  he  came  back  in  a  little  over  ani 
hour,  bringing  the  men,  who  were  very  drunk,  and  singing' 
and  shouting,  or  maudlin  or  sullen  and  vicious,  according 
to  their  natures.  Azevedo  soused  them  with  cold  water, 
and  we  got  under  way  at  once. 

Our  course  was  a  little  east  of  south  until  we  struck 
the  northeast  trades  in  latitude  28°  N.,  although  there  was 
a  good  easterly  wind  all  the  way  from  Fayal,  and  the 


140  SHE  BLOWS! 

Clearchus  did  pretty  well  for  her.  We  did  not  stop  at 
Tenerife,  which  would  have  been  several  hundred  miles 
out  of  our  way.  With  the  trades  on  our  quarter  we  did 
better  yet  on  a  course  a  little  west  of  south.  This  took  us 
to  the  Cape  Verde  grounds. 

During  all  this  time  from  Fayal  up  to  getting  on  the 
Cape  Verde  grounds,  we  hardly  started  a  sheet,  and  the 
men  had  a  good  deal  of  time  to  themselves.  Most  of  them 
were  occupied  with  scrimshawing.  I  finished  my  pie 
marker,  but  did  not  begin  anything  else.  A  boy  on  ship- 
board does  not  have  nearly  as  much  spare  time  as  would 
naturally  be  supposed  by  people  who  do  not  know ;  none  of 
the  crew  have,  either,  although  the  crew  is  much  larger 
than  necessary  for  working  the  ship,  and  they  do  not  care 
much  for  appearances,  or  for  doing  things  smartly  or  in 
shipshape  fashion.  A  boy  has  none  of  the  duties  of  the  men, 
except  pulling  and  hauling  when  the  boats  are  away,  but 
he  is  at  the  beck  and  call  of  all  officers.  I  really  do  not 
know  whether  all  the  officers  have  that  right,  but  that  was 
the  way  it  worked  out,  and  I  never  questioned  it.  Then  I 
had  my  studies,  at  which  I  was  really  working.  What 
spare  time  I  had  I  preferred  to  spend  on  deck,  gazing  at 
the  sky  and  the  sea,  and  what  I  could  see  in  them,  rather 
than  working  with  my  eyes  in  my  hat.  There  was  little  to 
be  seen  in  the  air,  but  the  sea  sometimes  seemed  alive  with 
porpoises,  and  one  day  I  saw  a  dolphin  swimming  just  be- 
low the  surface  of  the  water  alongside  the  ship.  As  it 
passed,  with  no  perceptible  effort,  under  the  seas,  with  the 
sun  shining  upon  it,  it  showed  beautiful  colors,  changing 
every  instant  from  one  delicate  shade  of  blue  or  green  to 
another,  like  dissolving  views.  Then  there  came  another 
and  another,  and  flying  fish  leaping  from  the  water.  Some 
of  the  flying  fish  came  aboard,  or  went  clear  across  the 
deck  in  their  flight,  and  I  tried  to  catch  them  in  my  cap 
as  they  passed.  I  did  catch  three. 

In  about  14°    N.  latitude    we  ran  into  the  doldrums, 


THE  SOUTHWEST  MONSOON        141 

which  prevail  over  but  two  or  three  degrees  at  this  point 
and  at  this  season.  We  were  more  than  a  week  in  getting 
out  of  them.  It  did  not  rain  so  much  as  I  had  expected,  al- 
though the  clouds  hardly  broke,  and  heavy  showers  were 
likely  at  almost  any  time. 

In  about  latitude  9°  N.  we  ran  out  of  the  doldrums  and 
into  a  fresh  breeze  from  the  southwest,  which  the  captain 
said  was  the  southwest  monsoon.  I  did  not  then  know 
what  a  monsoon  was.  It  sounded  like  simoon  and  typhoon, 
and  I  knew  that  some  of  them  were  ferocious  and  terrible 
things,  but  I  was  not  at  all  sure  which  was  the  worst.  It 
was  the  strange  and  foreign  sound,  I  have  no  doubt,  that 
scared  me.  If  typhoons  had  been  called  simple  hurricanes 
they  would  not  have  seemed  nearly  so  bad.  I  had  studied 
about  typhoons  and  simoons  and  monsoons,  and  other 
winds,  in  my  physical  geography  at  school,  but  they  had 
meant  nothing  to  me  but  names,  largely  because  they  were 
nothing  but  names  to  my  teacher.  How  could  they  be  any- 
thing more?  When  we  ran  into  it  we  found  that  the  mon- 
soon —  this  one,  at  any  rate  —  was  nothing  to  be  afraid 
of.  It  is  a  sort  of  seasonal  trade  wind,  due  to  the  nearness, 
in  this  case,  of  the  continent  ot  Africa.  We  changed  our 
course  to  southeast,  and  held  it  until  we  ran  into  the  south- 
east trades  a  few  degrees  farther  south;  then  changed 
again,  running  nearly  west  at  first,  to  accommodate  the 
ship  to  the  wind,  which  at  first  was  nearly  south.  The  wind 
got  around  more  to  the  eastward  as  we  went  on,  and  when 
we  crossed  the  line  we  could  lay  a  southwest  course. 

We  crossed  the  equator  in  about  longitude  25°  W.  The 
actual  crossing  occurred  at  night,  but  I  think  that  fact  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  attitude  of  the  men  toward  that 
important  event.  They  took  absolutely  no  notice  of  it, 
and  I  do  not  believe  that  more  than  two  or  three  of  them 
thought  of  it  at  all. 

In  the  latitude  of  Cape  St.  Roque  and  Pernambuco, 
the  usual  tracks  for  sailing  ships  from  the  United  States 


142  SHE  BLOWS! 

and  Europe  to  Cape  Horn  and  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope 
converge  because  of  the  trade  winds.  The  tracks  of  ves- 
sels, either  sail  or  steam,  from  Cape  Horn  and  the  eastern 
ports  of  South  America  naturally  pass  through  the  same 
somewhat  narrow  area ;  but  although  it  seems  narrow  when 
you  see  it  on  a  chart,  it  covers  six  or  seven  degrees  of  long- 
itude, which  is  about  four  hundred  miles  in  this  latitude. 
The  chance  of  meeting  ships  here  is,  therefore,  not  so 
great  as  any  one  might  suppose,  but  we  did  see  five  ships 
in  four  days.  We  spoke  none  of  them,  although  we  did  try 
to  speak  one,  a  big  ship  which  Captain  Nelson  thought 
was  bound  to  New  York.  He  wanted  to  send  letters,  and 
we  all  hastily  got  together  what  we  had  to  send  —  there 
was  no  time  to  write  more  than  a  half  dozen  words  — ■ 
and  made  up  a  packet. 

The  ship  did  not  respond  to  our  signal,  however.  She 
was  nearly  a  mile  away,  going  like  a  race-horse,  with 
everything  she  owned  on  her  yards,  and  the  wind  just 
abaft  the  beam.  She  may  not  have  seen  our  signal  —  she 
may  not  have  looked  for  it,  her  master  being  unwilling  to 
go  to  the  very  considerable  trouble'  involved  in  taking  a 
packet  of  letters  from  an  old  whaler.  At  any  rate,  she  did 
not  stop  or  give  any  sign.  She  was  a  beautiful  sight  as  she 
passed  to  windward  under  her  cloud  of  canvas,  making  a 
good  sixteen  knots,  bowing  slowly  and  gracefully,  and 
shouldering  the  seas  out  of  her  way,  smothered  in  foam 
to  her  knightheads.  There  is  nothing  so  beautiful  as  a  full- 
rigged  clipper  ship  with  all  her  towering  spread  of  sail, 
and  with  as  much  wind  as  she  can  stagger  under.  I 
watched  her  as  long  as  I  could  see  her,  thinking  that 
merely  sailing  in  such  a  ship  must  be  sheer  pleasure  such 
as  we  in  the  Clearchus  could  not  realize.  I  found  that  J 
was  smiling  to  myself.  I  wish  that  the  day  of  the  sailing 
ship  might  come  again.  It  really  seems  as  if  it  might. 
There  is  a  wide  field  for  the  large,  fast  sailing  ship. 
There  is  none  for  the  small,  slow  ship.  After  all,  it  is  a 


MR.  BROWN'S  STORY  143 

question  of  costs:  crews  and  wages  against  investment 
and  depreciation  and  the  price  of  coal  or  oil. 

We  kept  on  down  the  coast  of  South  America,  but  well 
out  of  sight  of  land,  for  ten  days.  For  the  first  half  of  the 
time  we  had  the  southeast  trades,  which  were  very  nearly 
east,  and  nothing  happened  to  break  the  pleasant  monot- 
ony. I  read  the  "  Lives  of  the  Navigators,"  for  before  long 
we  should  be  off  the  coast  of  Patagonia,  and  I  wished 
to  prepare  for  that  experience.  No  information  was  to 
be  despised,  and  who  knows  how  much  the  true  Pata- 
gonians  have  changed  in  three  hundred  years  ?  I  kept  track 
of  Peter's  scrimshawing  too,  although  I  did  none  myself, 
and  I  devoted  a  good  deal  of  time  to  my  studies. 

Mr.  Brown  spent  a  good  deal  of  time  in  helping  me,  and 
from  casual  remarks  and  allusions  that  he  made  from  time 
to  time  I  had  pieced  out  a  fragmentary  history  of  his  ca- 
reer. I  had  a  pretty  good  notion  that  Brown  was  not  his 
real  name,  but  I  had  no  evidence  of  it.  His  story,  as  far  as 
I  had  been  able  to  get  at  it,  with  some  guesses  on  my  part, 
was  this. 

He  had  come  of  good  family,  with  some  money;  how 
much  I  could  not  tell,  but  enough  to  send  him  to  a  good 
school  and  to  college.  At  school  he  was  rather  wild  and  un- 
controllable, and  at  college  he  was  worse.  In  the  middle 
of  his  college  course  came  the  Civil  War,  and  he  left  col- 
lege and  enlisted.  What  his  history  had  been  in  the  war  I 
could  not  guess,  for  he  made  but  one  allusion  to  being  in 
it  at  all.  When  the  war  was  over,  he  went  back  to  college ; 
but  in  his  senior  year  he  got  into  some  drunken  scrape,  and 
was  expelled.  His  father  seemed  to  have  been  a  hard  kind 
of  man,  or  perhaps  he  had  got  discouraged  and  tired  of 
pulling  him  out  of  scrapes,  and  he  turned  him  adrift. 

Mr.  Brown,  as  I  must  call  him,  wandering  down  upon 
the  Boston  wharves,  rather  desperate,  shipped  in  a  fisher- 
man. He  had  always  been  used  to  boats.  It  was  a  very 
short  cruise,  and  upon  his  return  he  shipped  in  a  mer- 


144  SHE  BLOWS! 

chantman  for  the  East.  On  this  voyage,  as  I  inferred,  he 
had  not  abandoned  his  bad  habits,  and  somehow  or  other 
he  found  himself  cast  adrift  for  the  second  time,  and  "  on 
the  beach  "  at  Batavia.  Here  he  got  into  some  row  —  a 
fight,  which  almost  ended  him  —  with  his  outcast  com- 
panions, and  barely  escaped  with  his  life.  That  seemed  to 
have  sobered  him.  He  pulled  himself  together,  and  re- 
formed ;  shipped  as  foremast  hand  on  a  whaler  which  had 
put  into  Batavia  short  of  men,  and  had  followed  whaling 
for  the  six  years  since.  Now  he  was  thirty-two  or  thirty- 
three,  quiet  and  kind  and  efficient,  and  he  had  my  un- 
qualified admiration  and  affection.  If  I  were  a  second  Con- 
rad I  would  make  a  book  of  him. 

In  about  latitude  17°  S.  the  southeast  trades  left  us, 
and  the  wind  came  out  from  the  northeast  and  north, 
which  suited  us  just  as  well.  We  continued  on  our  course 
for  another  five  days,  and  then  stood  in  to  the  westward 
for  Rio, 


CHAPTER  XV 

We  had  good  weather  to  the  River  Plate.  Our  northeast- 
erly wind  continued  until  we  were  two  days  out  of  Rio, 
then  pulled  around  into  the  southwest,  and  came  stronger. 
There  are  not  many  days  of  calms  and  variable  winds  in 
this  part  of  the  ocean,  and  gales  at  this  season  are  rare. 
We  were  making  a  course  almost  due  south,  and  were 
several  hundred  miles  from  the  coast.  When  we  arrived  off 
the  Plate,  early  in  November,  we  reduced  sail,  and  cruised 
to  and  fro,  keeping  a  sharp  lookout  for  whales. 

We  had  seen  no  birds  at  all  on  the  Western  grounds, 
and  but  few  on  our  way  down;  but  here  I  saw  my  first 
albatross,  before  we  had  got  any  whales.  The  breeze  was 
light,  but  there  was  quite  a  heavy  swell  rolling  from  the 
southwest,  and  the  ship,  under  easy  sail,  was  barely  mov- 
ing through  the  water.  I  happened  to  have  —  or  to  be 
taking  —  a  brief  rest  from  my  duties,  as  I  was  very  apt 
to  do.  Probably  I  had  been  sent  on  some  errand,  and,  boy- 
like, I  was  performing  it  by  standing  at  the  rail  near  the 
windlass,  looking  out  over  the  heaving  sea,  and  dreaming 
my  dreams,  when  I  saw,  far  ahead  of  us,  a  white  speck 
on  the  water.  The  white  speck  would  rise  slowly,  as  the 
great  rollers  advanced,  until  it  was  on  the  top  of  one  of 
them ;  then,  with  the  passage  of  the  swell,  it  would  fall  as 
slowly,  until  it  was  hidden  in  the  valley.  I  had  the  old 
glass  hung  about  my  neck  in  case  we  should  raise  a  spout. 
All  the  officers  used  to  laugh  at  me  for  carrying  that  jan- 
gling load  of  junk,  but  I  did  not  care  for  their  laughter, 
and  I  was  glad  that  I  had  it  then,  for  I  could  not  have 
gone  after  it. 

I  looked  through  the  glass,  and  after  searching  over  a 
vast  expanse  of  sea  and  sky  —  it  is  no  small  trick  to  hold 


146  SHE  BLOWS! 

a  glass  steady  on  a  vessel  that  is  heaving  as  the  Cleaichus 
was,  but  I  had  got  the  hang  of  letting  my  feet  move  with 
the  ship  and  keeping  my  body  steady  —  after  a  long 
search,  I  say,  I  found  my  white  speck,  and  saw  that  it  was 
some  sort  of  a  great  white  bird,  sitting  high  in  the 
water,  like  a  gull.  It  may  have  been  sleeping,  but  it  was 
not  when  I  caught  sight  of  it  through  the  glass.  Its  head 
was  up,  and  it  was  looking  about  alertly,  and  at  last  it 
caught  sight  of  the  ship.  The  ship  was  not  near  to  it, 
however,  and  it  continued  to  stare  right  at  me  for  a  long 
time,  until  I  grew  embarrassed,  and  put  the  glass  down. 
It  sounds  absurd  enough,  but  you  just  try  looking  at  a 
distant  boat  or  a  duck  or  a  gull,  through  a  glass,  and  if 
you  do  not  have  the  same  impulse  I  will  eat  it  —  if  it  is 
the  right  kind  of  a  duck.  When  the  glass  was  down,  my  em- 
barrassment vanished,  and  I  put  it  to  my  eyes  again.  The 
bird  was  still  watching  me,  looking  away  now  and  then, 
and  getting  more  nervous;  but  it  waited  until  I  had  a 
distinct  view  of  its  shape  and  plumage,  its  bill,  with  a 
hook  at  the  end,  and  its  staring  eyes,  before  taking  flight. 
Then,  with  a  last  glance  toward  the  ship,  it  spread  long, 
narrow  wings,  held  them  out,  seemed  to  rise  on  its  feet, 
and  began  a  sort  of  run  over  the  surface  of  the  water. 
When  it  had  run  a  hundred  feet  or  more  in  this  way,  and 
was  going  at  great  speed,  it  managed  to  take  the  air.  Al- 
batrosses do  not  take  the  air  easily,  and  the  men  said  that 
they  are  not  able  to  rise  from  calm  water,  but  depend  on 
the  lift  of  the  waves.  As  it  rose  it  seemed  enormous,  and 
-  I  was  reminded  of  the  first  great  blue  herons  I  ever  saw. 
I  was  on  a  visit  to  my  grandmother,  in  Newburyport,  and 
as  we  were  going  over  Chain  Bridge  we  saw  four  of  the 
great  birds  standing  in  the  edge  of  the  marsh.  They 
saw  us  too;  and  when  we  stopped  to  get  a  better  view, 
they  rose.  I  remember  they  seemed  as  big  as  houses,  as 
they  flew  off  across  the  river,  trailing  their  long  legs. 
That  albatross,  seen  through  my  glass,  seemed  as  big  as 


A  BREACHING  WHALE  147 

a  house.  Probably  he  had  a  spread  of  wing  half  as  large 
again  as  that  of  a  great  blue  heron. 

As  I  stood,  with  the  glass  at  my  eyes,  watching  the 
albatross  rise  and  sail  away,  the  surface  of  the  sea  for  a 
great  distance  was  in  the  field  of  the  glass.  My  attention 
was  caught  by  a  commotion  —  a  sort  of  heaving  of  the  sur- 
face —  on  the  side  of  one  of  the  rollers,  three  or  four 
miles  away.  At  almost  the  same  instant  a  glistening  black 
body  shot  out,  rode  high  in  the  water  for  a  moment,  and 
then  sank  without  a  splash  until  only  two  small  islands 
were  visible.  I  yelled  at  the  top  of  my  lungs,  and  as  if  my 
yell  had  been  a  signal,  a  vigorous  spout  arose  from  the 
whale's  spiracle,  plumed  off  to  leeward,  and  the  melodious 
cry  of  the  Admiral  came  down  to  me. 

The  whale  was  undisturbed,  and  lay  there  like  a  huge 
log,  taking  his  time  about  having  his  spoutings  out.  He 
was  off  the  lee  bow,  and  we  kept  on  for  perhaps  ten  min- 
utes, to  get  more  to  windward  of  him.  Then  we  lowered 
two  boats.  The  boats  had  not  gone  far  when  the  whale 
raised  his  flukes  lazily,  and  went  down  again;  and  the 
boats  went  on  to  the  points  which  their  officers  thought  ad- 
vantageous for  the  whale's  rising,  took  down  their  sails, 
unshipped  their  masts,  and  waited. 

They  had  been  loafing  there  about  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  when,  suddenly,  without  warning  of  any  kind,  the 
body  of  a  whale  shot  clear  of  the  water,  between  the  boats, 
and  fell  back  with  a  tremendous  splash.  This  was  too 
much  for  the  nerves  of  one  of  the  green  hands,  who  let 
loose  a  yell.  The  whale  had  no  difficulty  in  hearing  that 
yell.  We  heard  it  on  the  ship.  The  whale,  which  was 
not  the  one  they  had  been  waiting  for,  but  another, 
lobtailed  twice,  and  made  off  between  the  boats,  to  wind- 
ward, before  the  crews  could  get  their  oars  in  the  water. 
The  whale  was  evidently  "  gallied,"  and  was  swimming 
head  out.  Although  the  boats  took  up  the  chase  at  once, 
and  we  hastily  lowered  another  boat  to  head  him  off,  if 


118  SHE  BLOWS! 

possible,  that  boat  was  too  late,  and  he  passed  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  ahead  of  the  ship.  The  first  two  boats,  seeing 
that  they  were  rowing  a  losing  race,  returned  to  their 
stations,  to  wait  until  the  first  whale  rose ;  but  the  boat  we 
had  lowered,  which  was  the  fifth  mate's  boat,  continued 
the  chase  for  five  miles.  It  got  no  nearer  in  the  five  miles 
of  hard  rowing,  and  then  gave  it  up,  and  returned. 

Meanwhile  the  two  boats  were  back  again,  watching 
the  water  for  a  sign  of  the  reappearance  of  the  first  whale. 
The  hour  was  almost  up,  and  I  glanced  aloft  at  the  Ad- 
miral's station  at  the  foremasthead.  The  Admiral  was 
not  there,  for  he  rowed  bow  oar  in  Mr.  Snow's  boat 
■ — the  fifth  mate's  —  but  another  man  was  manipulating 
the  signal  flag.  I  had  learned  a  little  of  their  system  of 
signalling,  and  I  saw  that  he  was  telling  them  that  their 
whale  had  risen  far  to  leeward.  I  looked  and  could  just 
make  out  the  spout,  about  a  couple  of  miles  to  leeward  of 
the  boats.  The  whale  seemed  to  be  reconnoitering.  He 
swam  slowly  in  a  circle,  always  keeping  his  distance 
from  the  boats  and  from  the  ship,  and  working  to  wind- 
ward. 

"  Clean  gallied,"  said  a  voice  behind  me.  "  Damn  that 
man!  They  may  as  well  come  aboard." 

That  seemed  to  be  Captain  Nelson's  opinion,  for  the 
boats  were  soon  called  back.  It  was  a  disgusted  lot  of  men 
that  came  over  the  side.  I  had  no  difficulty  in  spotting  the 
man  who  had  yelled,  and  thereby,  as  they  all  maintained, 
had  lost  them  a  perfectly  good  whale.  It  was  Kane,  in  Mr. 
Brown's  boat.  He  looked  sheepish  and  ashamed,  and  said 
not  a  word.  Kane  afterward  became  one  of  our  best  men. 

We  were  not  always  to  have  that  kind  of  luck.  A  week 
later  we  raised  whales  again.  Mr.  Baker  and  Mr.  Brown 
lowered  at  once,  and  after  about  half  an  hour,  when  more 
whales  had  come  to  the  surface,  Mr.  Tilton  and  Mr. 
Wallet.  Mr.  Baker  struck  almost  immediately.  His  whale 
was  rather  a  small  one  which  happened  to  rise  just  ahead 


A  NEW  BOATSTEERER  149 

of  the  boat,  and  Macy  got  both  irons  fast.  The  whale  then 
started  to  run  under  water,  coming  to  the  surface  now 
and  then  to  spout.  He  ran  so  hard  that  it  was  impossible 
to  pull  up  for  lancing,  and  they  were  unable  even  to  hold 
all  they  had,  and  had  to  give  him  line.  He  was  heading  for 
Montevideo,  and  passed  out  of  sight  with  Mr.  Baker  in  the 
bow,  holding  a  useless  lance,  and  swearing  volubly,  I  have 
no  doubt;  and  with  Macy  holding  hard  at  the  steering 
oar,  and  the  boat  throwing  a  small  cataract  of  spray  from 
either  side. 

Meanwhile  a  second  whale  had  risen  some  distance 
ahead  of  Mr.  Brown.  They  pulled  hard  for  it,  a  much 
longer  pull  than  Mr.  Baker's.  When  Mr.  Baker  was  well  on 
his  way  to  the  coast  of  South  America,  and  I  turned  my 
glass  on  Mr.  Brown's  boat,  he  had  succeeded  in  getting 
near  the  unsuspecting  whale,  approaching  from  behind. 
The  whale  had  just  become  aware  of  it  —  he  had  not 
seen  it,  but  probably  he  had  heard  it  —  and  was  pre- 
paring to  see  about  having  something  done  about  it.  What 
that  would  have  been  I  was  never  to  find  out,  for  the  boat- 
■teerer  was  just  taking  in  his  oar.  The  boatsteerer  was 
Starbuck,  an  energetic  Nantucketer  from  Mr.  Tilton's 
boat,  who  had  been  given  Wright's  place  over  the  head  of 
Black  Tony  —  the  Prince  —  to  my  disappointment.  I 
think  most  of  the  men  would  have  been  glad  to  see  the 
Prince  get  it.  The  officers  would  have  been  glad,  too;  but 
the  Prince  was  as  black  as  the  ace  of  spades.  That  fact 
stuck  in  their  crops.  It  always  does,  whatever  may  be 
said;  and,  although  there  was  no  serious  objection  to  a 
black  boatsteerer,  that  would  be  the  end  of  promotion 
for  him,  while  Starbuck  was  one  of  themselves,  and  would 
go  as  high  as  his  natural  ability  would  take  him. 

Well,  Starbuck  was  just  taking  in  his  oar.  They  were 
very  close,  and  he  had  no  time  to  get  his  breath  after  his 
hard  pull,  but  must  throw  the  harpoon  at  once ;  and  it  was 
his  first  whale,  and  he  was  undoubtedly  nervous.  The  con- 


150  SHE  BLOWS! 

sequence  was  that  he  did  not  make  a  good  dart,  and  al- 
though the  harpoon  struck,  it  was  not  thrown  hard  enough, 
and  only  the  barb  penetrated.  His  second  iron  missed 
altogether. 

Fortunately  the  whale  did  not  seem  greatly  disturbed, 
but  only  a  little  surprised.  He  appeared  to  change  his 
mind  about  the  boat,  and  swam  off  at  a  leisurely  gait. 
Mr.  Tilton  was  nearly  up  by  this  time,  and  Mr.  Brown, 
fearing  that  the  harpoon  would  pull  out  at  any  moment, 
signalled  him  to  get  fast  to  the  whale.  Mr.  Tilton  did. 
His  boatsteerer,  Azevedo,  a  stocky,  heavily  set  Western 
Islander,  sunk  both  irons  to  the  haft  in  the  whale's  other 
side,  just  behind  the  flipper.  Whether  the  harpoons  had 
touched  a  vital  spot  I  do  not  know,  but  the  actions  of  the 
whale  were  peculiar.  In  fact,  he  did  not  act  at  all,  but 
lay  like  a  vast  log  on  the  water,  giving  both  Mr.  Brown 
and  Mr.  Tilton  all  the  chance  in  the  world  to  pull  up  and 
lance  him.  This  they  did,  both,  one  from  each  side.  The 
whale  lay  so  low  in  the  water  that  I  could  see  nothing  of 
him,  but  it  turned  me  rather  sick  to  see  them  both  pump- 
ing their  lances  up  and  down  in  him,  seeking  the  life,  that 
being  the  great  arterial  reservoir  I  have  mentioned.  Mr. 
Brown  found  it,  and  the  whale  began  to  spout  thick  blood. 
It  seemed  to  me  a  revolting  business,  mere  butchery  of  a 
great  beast  that  was  harmless  and  passive.  Was  this  the 
career  I  had  chosen?  I  put  the  glass  down,  feeling  a  lit- 
tle sick  at  my  stomach  and  rather  faint,  and  leaned 
against  the  mast  and  closed  my  eyes,  missing  the  flurry, 
which  they  told  me  afterwards  was  lively  enough  to  make 
up  for  the  whale's  previous  inaction. 

By  putting  down  the  glass  and  closing  my  eyes  I  missed 
the  first  part  of  an  incident  which  would  have  given  me 
some  pleasure.  The  ship  had  got  pretty  near  the  boats  by 
that  time,  and  I  was  roused  by  a  shout  from  the  Admiral 
and  from  the  crew  on  deck.  Mr.  Wallet  was  slow  in  get- 
ting into  action,  as  was  quite  usual  with  him.  Two  other 


A  WHALE  STRIKES  A  BOAT         151 

whales  had  come  up,  and  one  of  them,  chancing  to  rise 
very  near  Mr.  Wallet's  boat  just  as  he  was  taking  in 
his  sail  and  about  to  unstep  his  mast,  made  for  the 
boat  without  an  instant's  hesitation.  It  was  this  that 
had  caused  the  men  to  shout.  There  was  nothing  harmless 
and  passive  about  that  whale,  and  I  could  have  killed 
him  without  a  qualm  —  if  I  had  been  in  the  boat  and 
had  had  a  chance.  The  men  in  the  boat  evidently  saw  no 
chance  to  do  anything  but  get  out,  for  the  whale  had  gone 
under  water  a  short  distance  from  the  boat,  and  they  knew 
what  he  would  do  next.  He  did  it.  He  rose  at  some  speed 
directly  under  the  boat,  and  tossed  it  into  the  air  as  if  it 
had  been  a  straw,  staving  it  completely,  the  men  spilling 
out  on  each  side.  Two  of  the  men  had  jumped  out  before 
the  whale  struck  them,  and  were  swimming  away,  and  the 
others  seemed  to  be  swimming  away  from  the  fragments 
of  the  boat  as  fast  as  they  could,  but  I  could  not  see,  at 
the  time,  whether  they  all  got  away  or  not.  It  was  all 
white  water  there.  The  whale  was  in  a  furious  temper, 
and  chewed  the  wreckage  of  the  boat  and  the  oars  to 
splinters,  and  then  thrashed  the  mass  with  his  flukes. 
He  missed  the  men,  probably  failing  to  see  them;  and, 
having  done  all  the  damage  he  could,  he  made  off  slowly, 
pausing  in  a  truculent  way  as  if  he  was  in  doubt  whether 
he  should  attack  Mr.  Brown  and  Mr.  Tilton.  I  have  had 
no  doubt,  since  I  have  come  to  know  whales  better  than  I 
did  then,  that  he  would  have  attacked  them  if  he  had  seen 
them  clearly.  They  were  over  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away. 
But  you  never  can  tell  what  a  whale  will  do. 

Mr.  Brown  immediately  cast  loose  from  the  dead  whale, 
but  he  did  not,  as  I  expected,  go  at  once  to  the  rescue  of 
the  men  from  Mr.  Wallet's  boat.  These  men  were  swim- 
ming about  in  the  water.  I  could  just  see  their  heads. 
They  had  begun  to  go  back  to  the  wreckage  of  the  boat 
and  pick  up  pieces  of  oars  and  fragments  of  planks  from 
the  broken  boat  to  cling  to.  Mr.  Brown,  so  far  as  I  could 


152  SHE  BLOWS! 

see,  paid  them  no  attention,  but  made  after  the  whale, 
which  had  abandoned  its  leisurely  gait,  and  was  swim- 
ming in  a  business-like  way,  as  though  he  had  just 
remembered  an  appointment.  The  chase  was  a  short  one, 
for  the  boat  did  not  gain  at  all  with  the  men  pulling  their 
hearts  out,  and  Mr.  Brown  gave  it  up,  and  went  back  to 
pick  up  the  men. 

Mr.  Tilton  had  also  cast  loose,  having  put  a  waif  on  the 
dead  whale  —  a  waif  is  a  little  flag  on  a  pole,  which  is 
stuck  in  a  hole  made  with  a  spade  for  that  purpose  —  and 
he  had  gone  in  chase  of  other  whales  which  had  come  up. 
But  the  pod  seemed  to  be  thoroughly  alarmed,  and  the 
three  whales  in  sight  were  making  off  at  a  pace  too  fast 
for  the  boats.  That  made  six  whales  in  the  pod,  for  I 
thought  there  were  no  more. 

Both  Mr.  Brown  and  Mr.  Tilton  appeared  to  be  of  my 
opinion,  for  they  were  giving  the  dead  whale  all  their  at- 
tention. Both  boats  were  alongside  of  it  for  some  time. 
I  could  not  see  just  what  they  were  doing,  but  they  were 
evidently  getting  ready  to  tow  it  —  probably  making  the 
lines  fast  —  and  presently  the  two  boats  straightened 
out  and  began  pulling  toward  the  ship.  It  was  hard  work 
towing  that  whale,  and  they  got  ahead  so  slowly  that  I 
could  not  mark  their  progress,  the  whale  nearly  under 
water,  and  the  seas  washing  gently  over  his  back.  The 
ship  was  bearing  down  on  them,  and  they  stopped  row- 
ing, and  waited  for  her. 

There  were  already  sharks  about  the  carcass,  half  a 
dozen  or  more,  attracted  in  some  mysterious  way.  They 
had  come  in  with  it;  had  appeared  with  the  first  blood. 
It  took  some  little  manoeuvring  to  get  the  carcass  in 
proper  position  close  along  the  starboard  side,  where  the 
cutting-stage  is  rigged,  the  flukes  forward,  and  the  head 
about  at  the  gangway.  Then  a  line  with  a  sinker  attached 
was  dropped  between  the  ship  and  the  body  of  the  whale. 
Beyond  the  sinker  was  more  line  with  a  float  on  the  end. 


PITCHPOLING  153 

The  sinker  was  dropped  down  deep  enough  to  carry  the 
float  down  clear  of  the  body,  then  pulled  up  again,  and  the 
float  came  up  beyond  the  whale.  It  always  does.  I  never 
saw  it  fail.  The  men  in  the  boat  got  that  line,  and  hauled 
in  on  it,  and  pulled  it  all  in,  and  a  heavier  line  attached  to 
its  end,  and  then  a  chain  cable  to  which  the  heavy  line 
was  fast.  They  made  the  chains  fast,  the  fluke  chain  about 
the  tail  at  the  smallest  part,  just  before  it  begins  to  spread 
into  the  flukes,  so  that  the  carcass  would  turn  in  it  freely. 
The  flukes  sometimes  measure,  from  point  to  point,  as 
much  as  twenty  feet. 

We  began  cutting-in  at  once.  It  was  already  well  on  into 
the  afternoon  when  we  began,  and  within  a  couple  of 
hours  we  sighted  Mr.  Baker's  boat  returning  dejectedly, 
without  their  whale.  The  men  soon  came  aboard,  rather 
crestfallen.  Peter  told  me  that  the  shank  of  one  iron 
twisted  off,  and  the  other  pulled  out.  The  whale  was  still 
going  too  fast  for  the  boat,  and  there  was  nothing  to  be 
done  except  to  come  back. 

"  Best  we  could  do,  we  could  n't  heave  in  hard  enough  to 
get  close,"  he  said.  "  Then  Mr.  Baker  tried  pitchpoling." 

"How   do   you   pitchpole,    Peter?"    I    asked. 

"Pitchpole?"  said  Peter.  "Why,  the  shaft  of  a  lance 
is  light,  of  pine  or  some  light  wood,  and  you  take  it  under 
the  end  on  your  hand,  with  the  other  hand  to  guide  it. 
Then  you  toss  it  in  the  air  blade  first.  Of  course  you  aim 
at  the  whale.  You  must  'a'  done  the  same  thing  with  a 
stick  or  an  arrow  many  a  time.  The  head  being  heavy 
and  the  shaft  light,  the  blade  '11  keep  ahead.  If  you  ain't 
too  far  off,  and  if  you  're  any  kind  of  a  shot,  it  '11  come 
down  into  the  whale,  but  the  aim  ain't  certain.  It  can't  be. 
You  haul  the  lance  back  by  the  warp  that 's  fast  to  the 
shaft.  Mr.  Baker  missed  him  clean  the  first  time.  He  must 
'a'  been  making  twelve  knots,  right  into  the  wind.  The 
second  shot  just  tickled  his  flukes,  and  he  gave  such  a 
powerful  start  that  the  first  iron  twisted  off  as  if  it  had 


154  SHE  BLOWS! 

been  made  of  cheese.  That  first  iron  had  been  doing  all 
the  pulling,  and  when  it  went  that  brought  a  sudden 
strain  on  the  second  iron,  and  it  ripped  out.  So  there  we 
were,  and  there  was  the  whale  leaving  us  at  a  mile  a  min- 
ute, more  or  less.  We  came  back." 

After  supper  I  went  on  deck  again,  and  saw  Peter  stand- 
ing at  the  starboard  rail.  I  joined  him,  and  we  looked 
over  at  the  whale  lying  there.  The  cutting-in  had  been 
suspended  for  the  night.  It  was  dark,  and  I  could  not  see 
the  carcass,  but  I  saw  in  the  water  lambent  streams  of 
phosphorescence  moving  slowly  and  lazily  to  and  fro; 
little  streaks  of  bubbles  which  glowed  for  a  brief  second 
or  two,  and  then  were  gone.  Now  and  then  there  was  a 
burst  of  the  tiny  glowing  bubbles,  as  a  fin  moved  power- 
fully. The  streaks  of  uncanny,  lambent  light  seemed  to 
interlace,  but  they  all  ended  at  the  carcass  of  the  whale 
and  outlined  it,  leaving  it  in  black  darkness. 

"See,  Peter!"  I  said.  "What  a  lot  of  sharks!  How 
many  there  must  be  in  the  ocean!" 

This  whale  was  smaller  than  would  have  been  thought 
from  his  actions,  and  it  had  been  possible  to  get  the  whole 
case  on  deck.  It  had  been  reposing  behind  Peter  and  me 
while  we  discussed  the  matter  of  sharks.  It  was  emptied 
the  next  morning,  after  the  blubber  was  all  in  and  the 
carcass  cut  adrift. 

Bailing  the  case  furnished  sport  for  many  of  the  crew. 
It  was  not  necessary  to  use  the  case-bucket,  but  every  kind 
of  a  receptacle  was  used,  scoops  and  tin  pails  and  old  tin 
cans  being  in  especial  favor.  When  the  case  was  half 
empty,  a  man  got  inside.  He  looked  perfectly  contented  and 
happy,  standing  in  the  sloppy,  slushy  stuff  up  to  his  waist, 
ladling  it  out  with  a  scoop,  and  he  seemed  to  revel  in  the 
bath  of  oil  and  spermaceti.  His  getting  in  raised  the  level 
of  the  stuff,  so  that  tin  pails  and  tin  cans  once  more  came 
into  easy  use.  I  had  never  seen  oil  flowing  so  freely,  slop- 
ping and  spilling  over  everything. 


FIVE  AND  FORTY  155 

When  the  trying-out  was  over,  we  found  that  we  had 
made  just  over  forty-seven  barrels  from  that  whale;  pretty 
near  the  average,  taking  them  as  they  come.  The  average 
is  always  called  "  five  and  forty." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

Nothing  of  note  happened  for  very  nearly  a  month. 
We  had  the  usual  variations  of  weather,  good  and  bad, 
but  mostly  good,  and  no  gales.  We  had  no  luck,  however. 
Few  whales  were  raised,  and  those  that  we  did  see  were 
shy  and  wild,  and  we  got  none  of  them.  It  was  December 
before  we  got  another. 

Early  one  morning  I  was  out  on  deck.  I  had  been  sent 
on  some  errand  by  Mr.  Wallet.  I  was  never  very  quick 
on  Mr.  Wallet's  errands,  and  I  stopped  by  the  windlass, 
where  I  was  out  of  sight  from  aft,  and  looked  out  forward. 
It  was  a  perfect  morning,  the  sun  just  up,  making  a  path 
of  gold  over  the  tops  of  the  seas,  and  the  Clearchus  lazily 
rolling  along  that  golden  path.  Of  course  I  lost  myself 
in  contemplation,  half  shut  my  eyes,  and  drank  in  the 
beauty  of  it.  Mr.  Wallet  and  his  errands  were  forgotten, 
the  oily,  grimy  ship  was  behind  me,  and  the  gentle  breeze 
blew  on  my  cheek.  It  was  not  strong  enough  to  keep  the 
heavy  sails  filled  out,  and  the  jibs,  over  my  head,  almost 
flapped  with  every  roll  of  the  ship.  I  imagined  myself 
Magellan,  and  ahead  of  me  that  unknown  shore,  on  which 
a  huge  savage,  resplendent  in  yellow  paint,  danced  and 
made  gestures  of  invitation.  It  was  very  real  to  me,  and 
when  there  suddenly  appeared  a  tiny,  soft  feather  in  the 
savage's  hair  —  appeared,  seemed  to  stand  still  for  an  in- 
stant, a  tiny,  drooping  ostrich  plume,  drifted,  and  dis- 
appeared —  I  did  not  know  it  for  what  it  was.  It  came 
again,  the  tiny,  drooping  ostrich  plume;  and  at  the  same 
moment  the  quavering  cry  from  high  over  my  head  — 
**  Blo-o-ws !  "  The  dancing  savage  vanished,  and  I  ran. 

There  were  between  three  and  six  whales  in  the  pod;  I 
could  not  tell  just  how  many,  but  I  set  those  limits.  I 


THE  ANNIE  BATTLES  AGAIN       157 

waited  until  I  was  sure  Mr.  Brown's  boat  would  go;  then 
I  went  unobtrusively  and  stood  beside  the  captain,  for  I 
thought  he  might  let  me  go  in  it.  He  took  no  notice  of  me, 
and  I  walked  away,  my  heart  in  my  boots.  All  five  boats 
were  away. 

We  had  seen  nothing  of  the  Annie  Battles  since  that 
day  near  Hatteras,  except  a  dissolving  view  of  her  top- 
sails going  south,  just  as  we  went  in  to  Fayal.  Captain 
Coffin  had  not  been  waiting  on  the  Western  grounds,  in 
spite  of  his  promise.  I  think  that  all  of  us,  including  the 
officers,  had  completely  forgotten  her.  I  know  that  her 
very  existence  had  slipped  from  my  mind,  and  our  last 
meeting  with  her  was  of  the  same  order  as  our  picking  up 
the  man  with  his  foot  bitten  off  by  sharks,  but  of  less 
importance.  Now,  as  I  watched  the  boats  sailing  slowly 
over  that  smooth  sea,  and  spreading  out  fanwise  as  they 
went,  I  caught  sight  of  topmasts  rising  to  the  eastward. 
They  must  have  been  in  plain  sight  for  some  time  before 
I  saw  them,  with  their  square  topsails,  for  we  were  al- 
ready raising  her  lower  sails.  It  was  the  Battles,  there 
could  be  no  doubt  about  it. 

Where  we  were,  the  wind  was  nothing  more  than  a 
light,  variable  air,  mostly  from  the  southwest;  but  the 
Battles  was  bringing  with  her  a  brisk  breeze  from  the 
southeast.  I  ran  below  to  get  my  glass  —  that  load  of  junk 
—  and  hung  it  about  my  neck.  When  I  got  on  deck  again 
the  Battles  seemed  to  be  hesitating,  coming  up  slowly 
into  the  wind,  her  topsails  shaking  and  her  booms  evi- 
dently swinging.  It  was  as  if  she  no  longer  felt  the  direct- 
ing hand  of  any  man;  as  if  there  was  nobody  at  the  helm, 
or  she  had  lost  her  rudder.  I  thought  it  queer  behavior, 
and  so  did  Captain  Nelson.  He  was  gazing  steadfastly  at 
her,  muttering  to  himself,  and  wondering  what  Fred  Coffin 
could  be  up  to.  Then  he  saw  me  with  the  glass  hanging 
about  my  neck. 

"Here,  Tim,"  he  said,  "give  me  your  glass,  and  run 
below  and  get  mine." 


158  SHE  BLOWS! 

I  gave  it  to  him,  and  ran  below  without  a  word.  I  was 
v  gone  but  a  couple  of  minutes,  but  when  I  got  back  I  saw 
that  the  Battles  had  trimmed  her  sheets,  and  was  paying 
off  again. 

"  See  anything,  sir  ?"  I  asked  eagerly. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  Her  decks  have  n't  risen  yet,"  he 
said.  "  Seems  to  be  all  right  now.  I  did  n't  know  but  she 
was  in  trouble,  and  we  'd  better  run  down  to  her ;  and  we 
have  n't  got  much  of  a  crew  left  aboard." 

The  breeze  had  not  reached  the  boats  yet  —  it  had  not 
reached  the  whales  —  but  the  boats  were  very  much  nearer 
the  pod  of  whales  than  the  Battles  was,  and  our  mates 
evidently  thought  that  they  would  be  fast  long  before  the 
Battles  could  lower  a  boat,  and  they  held  on  under  sail. 
But  the  whales  were  wandering  directly  away  from  us, 
and  the  Battles,  her  hesitation  over,  was  now  coming  fast. 
I  saw  first  one  boat  and  then  another  hurriedly  take  in 
sail,  and  the  men  taking  to  their  oars.  I  could  see  the 
Battles  plainly  through  my  glass,  and  I  almost  caught 
the  wave  she  was  carrying  under  her  bow.  Now  and  then 
I  saw  the  top  of  it  through  the  mirage,  as  she  threw  the 
spray  high.  It  seemed  to  me  that  she  was  almost  on  top  of 
the  whales.  She  was  not,  of  course.  That  phenomenon  of 
loss  of  perspective  in  using  a  glass  has  since  become 
familiar  to  me. 

Suddenly  the  Battles  came  up  into  the  wind,  throwing 
her  topsails  aback.  It  stopped  her  short,  all  standing. 
Two  of  her  boats  were  away  almost  before  she  had 
stopped,  and  the  men  in  them  pulling  as  if  in  a  race,  the 
boatheader  throwing  his  weight,  with  his  free  hand,  on  the 
after  oar  at  each  stroke.  It  was  a  race  in  fact,  and  the 
prize  was  a  thousand  dollars  or  so.  I  forget  what  the  price 
of  oil  was  at  the  time,  but  I  have  the  impression  that  it  was 
low.  The  Battles'  men  were  fresh,  ours  were  not,  but  I 
saw  two  of  our  boats,  Mr.  Baker's  and  Mr.  Tilton's,  it 
turned  out,  although  I  could  not  distinguish  them  at  that 


A  RACE  FOR  A  WHALE  159 

distance  —  both  had  been  helping  the  pulling  in  the  same 
way  that  the  boatheaders  of  the  Battles  had  —  come  up 
on  one  side  of  a  whale  just  as  one  of  the  boats  from  the 
Battles  came  up  on  the  other  side.  All  three  harpooners 
seemed  to  dart  at  the  same  instant. 

What  happened  then  I  could  not  see  clearly.  It  was  all 
pretty  far  away,  and  all  I  saw  was  a  confusion  of  boats 
and  men,  and  the  great  flukes  of  the  whale  rising  instantly, 
and  crashing  down  on  the  sea  near  one  of  our  boats,  just 
missing  it  and  apparently  throwing  a  man  into  the  water. 
Then  the  whale  started  off,  towing  the  three  boats.  The 
details  I  had   from  Peter  later. 

Macy  and  Azevedo  rarely  missed  a  dart,  and  they  had 
not  missed  this  time,  in  spite  of  their  hard  pull.  Macy  had 
both  irons  in  to  the  hafts,  and  Azevedo  one.  Azevedo  was 
like  a  bull  in  strength,  but  he  was  not  so  well  placed  as 
Macy  —  near  the  flukes  —  and  his  second  iron  did  not  bite 
deep,  not  much  above  the  barb.  When  the  flukes  crashed 
down  on  the  water  Mr.  Tilton's  boat  was  deluged,  and 
Almeida,  a  green  hand,  was  so  scared  that  he  jumped 
overboard.  They  could  not  stop  then  to  pick  him  up,  but 
he  was  picked  up  later,  badly  frightened,  but  none  the 
worse  otherwise.  It  is  doubtful  whether  any  one  in  Mr. 
Tilton's  boat  gave  him  a  thought,  for  the  whale  had  started 
running. 

Nobody  in  either  Mr.  Baker's  boat  or  in  Mr.  Tilton's 
seemed  to  know  definitely  who  had  struck  first,  although 
they  all  said,  with  more  or  less  emphasis,  Macy  or  Aze- 
vedo. There  was  no  agreement  as  to  which  of  the  two 
it  was,  all  in  Mr.  Baker's  boat  saying  Macy,  and  all  in  Mr. 
Tilton's  saying  Azevedo ;  and  I  really  think  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  all  three  boats  had  struck  at  as  nearly  the  same 
instant  as  possible.  Certainly  the  Battles'  men  held  up 
their  end  of  the  argument  a  little  later.  The  whale  did  not 
run  fast  nor  far,  with  three  boats  towing,  and  every  man  in 
every  boat  heaving  on  his  line  for  all  he  was  worth.  The 


160  SHE  BLOWS! 

three  mates  were  standing  in  the  bows  with  lances  poised 
in  their  hands;  and  Mr.  Baker,  seeing  a  chance,  pitch- 
poled.  At  the  same  instant  the  mate  of  the  Battles  —  if  it 
was  the  mate  —  also  pitchpoled.  Peter  said  it  was  a  pretty 
sight  to  see  the  two  lances  in  the  air  at  the  same  time,  as  if 
they  were  from  two  guns  fired  with  the  same  lanyard.  The 
lances  flew  true,  and  pierced  the  whale  at  the  same 
moment.  They  were  drawn  back  by  the  light  warps 
attached  to  the  hafts,  each  man  working  frantically.  Mr. 
Baker  was  a  trifle  quicker  in  recovery.  The  boat  was  almost 
within  reach  of  the  whale,  but  not  quite,  and  he  darted 
the  lance  with  great  force.  The  Battles'  boat  was  a  little 
nearer  the  whale,  and  its  lance  was  held  for  a  second 
while  the  men  heaved  again.  Then  it  was  plunged  into 
the  side  of  the  whale. 

Not  one  of  the  three  boats  took  even  the  usual  pre- 
cautions, which  seem  little  enough,  but  what  chance  had 
the  whale  with  three  lances  being  churned  up  and  down 
in  his  in'ards?  He  just  lay  still  and  quivered,  spouting 
thick  blood,  and  gave  up  the  ghost.  Then  came  a  ticklish 
time. 

"  For  a  quarter  of  an  hour,"  said  Peter,  who  was  telling 
me  the  story,  "  I  did  n't  know  whether  there  was  going  to 
be  a  fight  or  not,  but  I  rather  thought  there  was.  Mr. 
Baker  and  the  mate  of  the  Battles  —  he  was  one  of  the 
mates,  I  s'pose  —  had  it  back  and  forth  across  the  back 
of  the  whale,  and  they  both  got  pretty  mad.  Mr.  Baker 
said  they  were  first  up. 

"  '  You  were  not ! '  said  the  Battles'  mate.  '  I  was  first 
up.  But  what  has  that  to  do  with  it  anyway?  Our  iron 
struck  first.' 

"  '  Like  hell,'  said  Mr.  Baker.  '  Macy's  iron  struck  first. 
Whale  's  ours.  I  'd  swear  to  it.' 

"  'No  doubt,'  said  the  Battles'  mate ;  '  but  that  don't 
make  it  so.' 

"  '  What  d'  ye  mean  ?  '  said  Mr.  Baker.  '  Call  me  a  liar, 
do  you  ? ' 


DISPUTE  WITH  THE  BATTLES      161 

"  'I  '11  call  you  anything  you  like ! '  said  the  Battles' 
mate.  '  I  '11  call  you  thief  if  you  take  this  whale.  It 's 
ours.' 

"  Mr.  Baker  gave  him  back  as  good  as  he  sent,  and  they 
got  madder  and  madder.  Just  as  I  thought  they  were  going 
to  get  in  a  fight  over  it,  Mr.  Baker  began  to  cool  down, 
and  the  Battles'  mate  began  to  cool  down  too.  We  were 
two  boats  to  his  one,  and  if  we  chose  to  just  take  the 
whale,  he  could  n't  prevent  us,  and  he  knew  it.  Mr.  Baker 
did  n't  want  to  do  it  that  way,  and  he  knew  well  enough 
what  the  old  man  would  think  of  it. 

" '  Tell  you  what,'  he  said.  '  We  don't  want  to  fight 
about  it.  That  would  n't  do  you  any  good,  nor  me  either, 
though  we  could  do  what  we  pleased  if  it  came  to  a  fight. 
We  '11  see  Cap'n  Coffin  and  fix  it  up  with  him.' 

"  '  Fix  it  up  with  me,  here  and  now,'  said  the  Battles' 
mate.  '  You  can't  see  Cap'n  Coffin.  He 's  confined  to  his 
cabin.' 

"  '  Confined  to  his  cabin !'  said  Mr.  Baker.  '  What 's  the 
matter  with  him?' 

" '  Nothing  much,'  said  the  Battles'  mate.  '  Sticks  in 
his  cabin,  and  won't  see  anybody.' 

" '  That 's  queer,'  said  Mr.  Baker.  '  How  does  he  give 
his  orders?' 

"  '  Instructions  in  writing  to  be  left  on  the  cabin  table 
every  morning.  No  business  of  yours,  but  I  don't  mind 
telling  you.' 

"  '  Queer! '  said  Mr.  Baker.  '  Very  queer/ 

"  It  is  mighty  queer  too,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it," 
said  Peter.  "  But  I  don't  know  the  rights  of  it. 

"  The  Battles'  mate  was  impatient.  '  Well,'  he  says, 
'  what  'you  got  to  say  ?  * 

"  Mr.  Baker  kind  o'  smiled.  '  Fair  division,'  he  says ; 
'  we  '11  take  the  blubber,  and  you  take  the  carcass.' 

" '  What!  '  roars  the  Battles'  mate.  '  What  the  —  '  Then 
his  eye  falls  on  the  whale,  and  travels  over  it,  what  you 


162  SHE  BLOWS! 

can  see  of  it,  and  that  ain't  much.  He  scratched  his  L/?ad, 
his  eye  travelling  over  the  whale  from  end  to  end.  '  I  '11 
take  you,'  he  says  quietly.  '  The  carcass  to  be  whole,  and 
to  be  delivered  at  our  side.  Does  the  carcass  include  the 
case?' 

"  '  The  carcass  does  not  include  the  case,'  said  Mr. 
Baker,  very  sarcastic.  He  had  been  looking  the  whale 
over.  '  Don't  you  think  you  've  got  enough  ?  ' 

"  '  I  '11  take  a  chance,'  said  the  Battles'  mate,  smiling. 
'  Delivered  at  our  side,  remember.' 

"  '  I  '11  go  halfway,'  said  Mr.  Baker.  '  Be  ready  to  take 
it  there.  I  '11  stand  to  my  bargain,  but  I  've  an  idea  that 
the  joke  's  on  me.' 

"  And  the  joke  's  on  him,  I  'm  thinking,  Tim,  and  on  us. 
Come  and  take  a  look." 

He  led  me  to  the  side.  The  whale  we  had  been  talking 
about,  with  one  other,  lay  there  below  us. 

"  Now,"  said  Peter,  "  if  you  '11  notice,  that  whale  looks 
kind  o'  thin  and  withered-like  for  a  whale  of  his  size. 
It 's  not  enough  to  see  unless  you  were  taking  special 
notice,  but  the  Battles'  mate  was ;  and  it 's  my  idea  that 
he  '11  not  make  more  'n  thirty-five  or  forty  barrel,  when 
he  ought  to  make  sixty.  The  Battles'  mate  no  doubt  expects 
to  find  ambergris  in  him,  and  Mr.  Baker  thinks  he  will, 
and  I  think  he  will  —  unless  we  can  find  a  way  to  get  it 
out  of  him  without  cutting  him  open.  Mr.  Baker  gave 
his  word  not  to  cut  the  carcass." 

"  How  could  they  do  that,  Peter?" 

"  Well,  Tim,  I  've  never  seen  it  done,  but  we  could  try. 
Swing  an  anchor,  or  some  other  heavy  thing,  say  a  hogs- 
head o'  water,  above  him,  and  let  it  drop  a  few  times  on 
his  stomach  or  his  insides  so  's  to  stir  'em  up  well,  and  we 
might  get  a  little.  It  'd  be  worth  trying." 

When  we  had  finished  cutting-in,  we  did  try  just  that. 
I  suppose  they  were  afraid  an  anchor  would  tear  the 
carcass,  but  a  cask  of  sea-water  would  not.  We  salvaged 


AN  UNLUCKY  DAY  163 

a  few  scraps  of  ambergris,  about  a  thousand  dollars' 
worth,  just  enough  to  let  the  officers  know  what  a  poor 
bargain  Mr.  Baker  had  made.  I  never  knew  how  much  of 
the  stuff  the  Battles  got  from  this  whale.  Probably  ten 
times  as  much. 

Altogether  that  was  one  of  our  unlucky  days.  Mr. 
Wallet  let  the  Annie  Battles  herself  get  between  him 
and  his  whale,  and  take  it  away  from  him.  He  did  not 
exert  himself  or  his  men  to  get  it,  it  seemed  to  us,  and 
Captain  Nelson's  displeasure  was  clear  enough.  I  have 
no  doubt  it  was  clear  to  Mr.  Wallet,  for  I  saw  the  captain 
talk  forcibly  to  him  when  he  came  aboard,  although  I  do 
not  know  what  he  said.  Mr.  Snow  being  on  the  end  of 
the  line  farthest  from  the  Battles,  got  his  whale  without 
molestation. 

Mr.  Brown's  boat  fared  the  worst.  He  was  waiting  for 
his  whale  to  rise,  and  the  second  boat  from  the  Battles 
came  up  opposite  him,  and  waited  also.  When  the  whale 
rose,  Starbuck  struck  him  first.  There  could  be  no  doubt 
about  it.  I  saw  it  all  clearly  through  my  glass.  Notwith- 
standing, the  Battles'  boat  pulled  up  at  once,  and  sunk  an 
iron  in  him.  At  that  third  iron  —  Starbuck  had  two  irons 
fast  —  the  whale  started  to  run,  and  we  had  to  give  him 
line.  While  the  line  was  snaking  out,  rather  slack,  some- 
how or  other,  for  the  second  time  on  that  voyage,  it  kinked 
and  caught  a  man  in  the  kink.  It  was  Kane  who  was 
caught,  about  his  arm  or  shoulder.  He  had  not  far  to  go, 
for  Mr.  Brown  had  put  back  his  kicking-strap  immediately 
after  the  accident  to  poor  Wright ;  but  his  going  those  few 
feet  was  rather  sudden.  The  kicking-strap  stopped  him. 
That  might  have  been  as  unfortunate  for  him  as  being 
taken  overboard,  but  Mr.  Brown,  who  had  changed  places 
with  Starbuck,  saw  it  almost  before  it  happened,  and 
reached  for  the  hatchet  and  cut.  His  action  was  lightning- 
like in  its  quickness.  Although  Kane  brought  up  on  tho 
kicking-strap,  he  did  not  have  to  start  the  heavy  boat, 


164  SHE  BLOWS* 

or  quite  possibly  his  arm  might  have  been  torn  out.  As  it 
was,  he  got  off  with  a  severe  wrench  to  his  shoulder,  and 
with  a  badly  bruised  arm.  His  arm  turned  black  where 
the  kink  had  caught  it,  and  showed  the  lay  of  the  line 
plainly. 

That  was  the  end  of  that  whale  for  us.  The  Battles' 
boat  got  him. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

Our  officers  were  all  highly  indignant  at  the  conduct  of 
the  Battles,  which  was  contrary  to  all  the  ethics  of  whal- 
ing, if  not  to  the  law  of  the  high  seas.  I  overheard  Captain 
Nelson  talking  with  Mr.  Baker,  who  got  very  vehement 
about  it,  and  wanted  to  take  Starbuck's  whale  away  from 
them  by  force. 

Captain  Nelson  was  quiet  for  a  moment,  stroking  his 
beard,  which  had  got  pretty  ragged. 

"  Some  excuse,  perhaps,"  he  said  at  last.  "  Kind  of  a 
row  with  Fred  three  or  four  weeks  before  we  sailed.  My 
house.  Maybe  I  was  a  little  trifle  hasty,  but  so  was  he. 
Both  got  mad,  and  I  said  more  than  I  meant  to.  Never 
thought  he  'd  —  well,  I  '11  go  aboard  of  him  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  see  if  I  can't  fix  it  up." 

So  Lizzie  Nelson  was  at  the  bottom  of  it  all!  At  our 
house  we  always  spoke  of  her  as  "  that  Nelson  girl,"  a 
rather  pretty  girl  in  a  buxom,  loud,  Nelsonish  sort  of  way ; 
"  pleasant-spoken  "  the  best  that  people  said  of  her,  and 
the  worst  much  worse  than  that.  I  had  the  feeling  that 
I  was  warned  against  the  wiles  of  Lizzie  Nelson,  although 
my  mother  never  actually  said  anything  against  her.  You 
would  think  it  unnecessary  to  warn  a  boy  of  fifteen  against 
the  wiles  of  a  girl  of  twenty,  but  you  did  not  know  Lizzie 
Nelson,  and  my  mother  did.  However,  I  did  not  fancy 
her,  nor  any  of  her  stripe.  Ann  McKim  was  the  idol  of 
my  boyhood,  as  she  was  the  idol  of  my  youth.  I  had  no 
room  for  fancy  for  the  Lizzie  Nelsons  of  the  world,  but 
there  were  plenty  of  those  who  had. 

We  were  not  to  know  the  results  of  Captain  Nelson's 
visit,  for  he  did  hot  make  it.  The  Annie  Battles  had 
finished  cutting-in  during  the  night,  and  at  dawn  her  top- 


166  SHE  BLOWS! 

sails  were  just  dropping  over  the  horizon  to  the  eastward. 
We  followed.  There  was  no  chance  of  our  catching  her,  of 
course,  unless  she  hove  to  to  try  out,  and  we  could  creep 
up  on  her  unbeknownst,  like  'Zekiel.  We  soon  lost  her;  and 
although  we  kept  on  to  the  eastward  for  a  couple  of  days, 
Captain  Nelson  was  not  yet  ready  to  leave  those  cruising 
grounds.  He  would  not  be  ready  for  that,  with  average 
luck,  for  weeks,  and  it  was  like  looking  for  a  needle  in  a 
haystack,  with  the  additional  disadvantage  that,  even  if 
we  found  the  needle,  it  would  slip  away  at  the  first  sight 
of  us.  At  the  end  of  the  second  day  we  came  about,  and 
worked  back  across  the  grounds. 

While  making  a  passage  from  one  cruising  ground  to 
another  the  distribution  of  duties  is  much  the  same  as  on 
a  merchant  vessel.  When  whaling  grounds  have  been 
reached,  however,  all  this  is  changed.  Each  boat's  crew 
constitutes  a  watch,  and  the  night,  from  four  bells  to  four 
bells  —  from  six  in  the  evening  to  six  in  the  morning  — 
is  divided  among  them.  The  officer  of  the  watch  is  the  boat- 
header,  or  mate.  A  watch,  for  a  four-boat  ship,  is  thus 
three  hours  long,  and  for  a  five-boat  ship,  such  as  ours, 
two  hours  and  forty  minutes.  This  easing  up  on  the  men  is 
in  order  that  they  may  be  as  fresh  as  possible  for  the 
chase  and  taking  of  whales,  which  is  their  first  and  most 
important  business.  For  the  same  reason  the  crew  has  only 
the  most  necessary  duties  during  the  day;  and  except  for 
the  necessary  change  of  sails  morning  and  night,  and 
washing  down  and  scrubbing  the  decks  each  morning,  the 
day  is  passed  in  utter  idleness,  so  far  as  regular  ship's 
duties  are  concerned.  The  men  are  allowed  to  do  what  they 
please :  read  —  if  they  can  read  —  play  cards,  mend 
clothes,  scrimshaw,  sleep. 

During  the  day  the  ship  stands  along  under  easy  sail 
so  that  nothing  will  be  missed,  usually  going  to  wind- 
ward slowly,  tacking  or  beating;  picking  up  whales  if 
they  are  seen  and  can  be  got.  At  sunset  light  sails  are 


ON  THE  CRUISING  GROUND        167 

taken  in,  topsails  close-reefed,  and  everything  done  to 
insure  the  ship's  making  as  little  progress  as  possible  dur- 
ing the  night.  They  even  wear  ship  occasionally,  to  keep  in 
the  same  place  throughout  the  night.  At  six  in  the  morning 
—  four  bells  —  or  perhaps  earlier  if  they  are  in  the  more 
temperate  latitudes,  the  crew  is  called  up,  sail  restored, 
decks  washed  and  scrubbed,  and  she  is  off  again  on  her 
beating  to  windward.  It  made  me  think  of  the  terns  fishing 
off  Ricketson's  Point  in  Padanaram:  tacking  slowly,  beat- 
ing to  windward,  the  eyes  above  the  coral-red  bill,  like  a 
man  at  the  masthead,  keeping  a  bright  lookout  for  fish; 
then  coming  down  swiftly  with  the  wind  to  the  leeward 
side  of  their  cruising  ground  to  begin  once  more  their  slow 
beating  against  the  wind.  In  just  this  way,  when  the  ship 
has  reached  the  windward  edge  of  her  cruising  ground, 
she  wears  around,  and  comes  down  before  it,  to  repeat 
the  process  until  the  old  man  has  tired  of  it. 

We  had  been  doing  this  for  three  weeks,  since  the  Annie 
Battles  parted  from  us,  without  taking  any  whales.  We 
had  seen  but  two  spouts,  and  lowered  once  without  result. 
The  other  spout  was  sighted  about  sunset,  and  we  did  not 
lower.  I  was  standing,  one  morning,  by  the  rail,  as  I  was 
always  doing  when  I  had  a  chance,  and  Macy  was  walk- 
ing the  deck  behind  me.  As  he  was  passing  I  turned  to 
him. 

"No  sign  of  the  Battles,"  I  said.  I  had  been  thinking 
of  her,  and  my  remark  was  only  the  continuation  of  my 
thought. 

"  No  sign  of  the  Battles,"  he  said  cheerfully,  stopping 
by  me  for  a  moment.  "  I  'm  glad  of  it.  I  thought  we 
should  surely  see  her  again  before  this,  but  we  haven't, 
and  good  riddance,  I  say." 

He  began  his  pacing  the  deck  again,  and  I  strolled  for- 
ward. I  found  Peter  sitting  beside  the  windlass,  working 
on  his  model.  I  never  knew  Peter  to  be  asleep.  He  did 
not  seem  to  need  sleep.  I  told  him  what  Macy  had  said. 


168  SHE  BLOWS! 

"  Aye,  Tim,"  he  said,  "  and  I  hope  so  too.  The  sea  's 
a  big  place,  but  it 's  a  little  place,  too,  and  you  're  always 
running  across  some  vessel  you  don't  want  to  see,  'specially 
when  she  's  on  the  same  business  as  yourself.  One  voyage 
I  made  to  eastern  ports,  Canton,  Hong  Kong,  Shanghai, 
Manila,  and  the  like,  I  was  always  meeting  Tim  Fernand, 
who  'd  been  my  shipmate  in  the  navy.  He  'd  shipped  on 
the  Mary  Easton,  and  she  followed  us  around  from  port 
to  port,  or  beat  us  to  it.  I  was  hard  put  to  it  to  get  rid 
of  him,  for  he  'd  fasten  on  me  like  a  leech,  and  he  was  a 
robber." 

"  Like  the  Annie  Battles." 

Peter  looked  up  at  me  with  a  smile  in  his  eyes,  but 
said  nothing,  and  then  there  came  down  to  us  from  the 
masthead  the  familiar,  quavering  cry.  Peter  sighed,  put 
down  his  model,  and  got  up.  It  was  a  single  spout  —  from 
a  lone  whale,  so  far  as  he  could  judge  —  miles  off  to  the 
southeast.  Peter  turned  back  to  me. 

"  Speak  of  the  devil,"  he  said.  "  Do  you  see,  Tim  ? 
Just  there,  well  beyond  the  whale?  What  do  you  make 
of  it?  " 

I  was  a  long  time  in  seeing  anything,  but  at  last  I  made 
out  dimly  the  two  slender  topmasts  with  their  yards,  but 
no  sails. 

"  Cutting-in,  like  as  not,"  said  Peter.  "  If  she  was  try- 
ing-out you  'd  see  the  smoke." 

We  headed  up  toward  the  whale,  and  when  we  were 
near  enough,  Mr.  Wallet  and  Mr.  Brown  lowered.  The 
whale  led  them  a  leisurely  chase  directly  toward  th( 
Battles,  and  we  followed.  Mr.  Brown  got  fast,  but  Mr. 
Wallet  did  not.  He  sailed  on  after  the  whale,  which  was 
running  away  with  Mr.  Brown.  The  whale  was  going 
much  faster  than  Mr.  Wallet's  boat  was,  and  it  was  a 
losing  chase  from  the  moment  Mr.  Brown  struck.  We 
wondered,  and  snickered,  for  it  was  so  like  Wallet.  As 
Peter  said,  it  was  like  a  drunken  man  chasing  his  hat, 


MR.  WALLET  BOARDS  THE  BATTLES    169 

always  hoping  it  would  stop,  and  always  keeping  after 
it  with  the  one  fixed  idea.  But  Peter  was  wrong  about  the 
idea.  If  Mr.  Wallet  had  a  fixed  idea  it  was  not  what  Peter 

—  and  all  of  us  who  watched  —  thought  it  was,  for  he 
sailed  straight  up  to  the  side  of  the  Battles.  Although  we 
had  got  within  three  miles  of  her,  I  could  not  see  clearly 
what  was  happening  then,  but  Peter  could.  His  eyes 
were  better  than  mine,  in  spite  of  his  age. 

I  "  Now,  what  do  you  make  of  that?"  he  cried.  "  They  're 
holding  her  there,  and  the  Battles'  crew  ain't  making  any 
sort  of  objection  that  I  c'n  see.  It 's  a  queer  vessel  and 
a  queer  crew  and  queer  doings,  and  Cap'n  Coffin 's  the 
queerest  of  the  lot,  if  you  believe  what  they  say  of  him 

—  which  I  don't.  There  goes  Mr.  Wallet  over  the  side, 
and  that 's  queerer  yet.  Mebbe  he  thinks  he  can  clear  up 
the  queerness,  but  I  miss  my  guess  if  that 's  what  he 
thinks.  If  it  was  the  old  man  himself,  now,  or  Mr.  Baker, 
say,  or  Mr.  Brown,  I  'd  say  it  would  be  cleared  up,  but 
'tween  you  and  me,  I  doubt  Mr.  Wallet  can  if  he  tries, 
and  I  doubt  he  tries." 

"  What  do  you  suppose,  Peter,"  I  asked,  "  he  means 
to  —  " 

"  I  ain't  had  time  to  s'pose  anything,  Tim,"  said  Peter. 
"  There  's  George  Hall,  now,  wanting  to  go  aboard,  and 
they  won't  let  him.  Tell  him  to  cast  off  and  keep  off.  I 
c'n  almost  hear  'em  say  it.  Quite  a  crowd  of  'em  along 
by  the  gangway,  and  all  motioning  him  off.  They  were 
cutting-in,  as  I  thought,  and  they  've  let  the  carcass  go 
adrift.  You  can  see  it,  I  guess,  going  astern,  just  awash. 
Now  some  of  'em  take  spades,  and  jab  at  the  boathook, 
and  they  're  getting  sail  on  her." 

Peter's  bulletins  stopped,  and  we  just  stood  there, 
gazing  in  silence. 

"  That  Wallet,"  he  said  at  last,  "  's  got  more  sense  than 
I  gave  him  credit  for.  You  see,  Tim,  if  it 's  desertion, 
which  is  more  'n  likely,  and  if  we  ever  get  hold  of  him 


170  SHE  BLOWS! 

again,  he  '11  say  that  he  was  kidnapped  by  that  crew  of 
pickpockets.  It  'd  be  hard  to  prove  't  he  was  n't,  and  it 
would  n't  make  much  difference  whether  anybody  believed 
it  or  not.  I  £  we  don't  get  him  —  and  I  should  think  that 
the  old  man  'd  be  glad  to  be  rid  of  him  —  we  '11  never 
know  the  rights  of  it,  or  what  '11  be  done  about  his  lay  in 
our  take  so  far.  I  don't  know  what  course  the  —  Aye,  aye, 
sir." 

For  Mr.  Baker's  boat  was  called  away,  and  Peter  ran. 
Captain  Nelson  himself  took  the  boat,  and  the  men  pulled 
hard  for  the  Battles;  but  her  mainsail  was  already  up, 
and  they  got  the  foresail  up  and  broke  out  a  jib,  and  she 
stood  off  on  the  wind  before  the  boat  had  gone  half  a  mile. 
It  was  hopeless  to  chase  her,  and  Captain  Nelson  came 
back.  He  was  very  sober  and  stern  as  he  came  over  the 
side,  and  we  watched  the  square  topsails  of  the  Battles 
gradually  sinking  to  the  eastward,  while  we  got  ready 
to  receive  Mr.  Brown  and  his  whale. 

As  soon  as  the  cutting-in  and  trying-out  was  finished 
we  made  sail,  and  headed  for  Montevideo.  It  was  within 
a  couple  of  days  of  Christmas,  and  the  men  hoped  for 
some  liberty  ashore.  Captain  Nelson  was  governed  by 
other  reasons  in  making  for  port;  he  wanted  to  send  let- 
ters, as  it  turned  out,  chiefly  on  account  of  the  mysteri- 
ous behavior  of  the  Battles,  and  the  desertion  of  Wallet, 
I  suppose,  although  I  never  knew  definitely.  He  let  it  be 
known  that  any  letters  would  be  sent,  and  I  wrote  home, 
but  by  a  piece  of  carelessness  of  my  own,  my  letter  did 
not  go. 

We  did  not  get  into  Montevideo  by  Christmas,  as  we 
had  been  more  than  three  hundred  miles  from  the  coast; 
and  we  had  to  be  content  with  the  usual  ship's  fare  on 
that  day,  with  the  addition  of  plum  duff  and  a  serving 
of  rum.  I  did  not  take  the  rum,  of  course,  but  I  took  the 
duff,  which  tasted  good  enough,  although  it  was  nothing 
more  than  soggy  dumpling,  with  molasses  over  it.  I  could 


MACY  BECOMES  FIFTH  MATE      171 

not  help  thinking  of  my  mother's  dumplings  —  food  of  a 
different  species  —  and  of  the  turkey  and  cranberry  sauce, 
and  the  pumpkin  and  apple  pies,  and  the  apples  and  nuts 
and  raisins  to  which  my  family  were  sitting  down  on  that 
day.  No  doubt  they  were  thinking  of  me. 

At  Montevideo,  which  we  reached  in  the  afternoon  of 
the  twenty-sixth,  the  captain  sent  his  letters  and  tried  to 
ship  another  man.  This  he  was  unable  to  do,  and  he  had 
to  sail  without  him,  a  man  short.  The  men  were  dis- 
appointed in  their  hoped-for  liberty,  only  one  boat's  crew 
getting  two  hours'  liberty.  This  crew  was  chosen  with 
some  care,  as  the  men  must  be  those  who  could  be  relied 
upon  to  return  at  the  end  of  their  two  hours.  We  sailed 
at  sunset,  with  some  grumbling  on  the  part  of  the  men. 

Nothing  was  done  about  the  second  mate's  berth  for 
more  than  a  week,  and  I  did  not  happen  to  hear  him 
mentioned,  although  I  have  an  idea  that  the  captain 
talked  the  matter  over  with  Mr.  Baker.  At  last,  how- 
ever, he  acted,  having  concluded,  as  I  supposed,  that 
there  was  little  chance  of  getting  Mr.  Wallet  back.  There 
was  some  show  of  letting  the  men  choose,  but  it  amounted 
to  nothing.  Macy  was  made  fifth  mate,  and  the  other  mates 
moved  up  a  peg,  so  that  Mr.  Brown  was  second  mate. 
That  pleased  me,  and  the  appointment  of  Macy  pleased 
Peter,  for  he  said  that  there  was  not  a  better  man  on  the 
ship.  I  agreed  with  him  in  that.  Macy  was  one  of  the  finest 
specimens  of  man  I  have  ever  seen.  He  was  over  six  feet 
tall,  with  a  perfectly  proportioned  figure,  but  his  perfect 
proportions  did  not  give  an  adequate  idea  of  his  size  unless 
he  stood  beside  another  man.  He  had  rather  tightly  curling 
flaxen  hair  —  we  called  him  "  Towhead  "  —  and  deep 
blue  eyes,  and  a  smile  that  won  the  heart  of  every  one  on 
whom  it  shone.  I  felt  that  I  should  like  to  know  him 
well,  but  it  was  not  easy  to  know  him  well.  There  was 
about  him  a  certain  atmosphere  of  aloofness.  No  doubt 
this  was  due  largely  to  a  natural  shyness;  but,  knowing 


172  SHE  BLOWS! 

less  about  such  things  then  than  I  do  now,  I  ascribed  it  to 
a  feeling  of  superiority  on  his  part.  That  was  his  rep- 
utation on  the  ship,  a  reputation  which  he  did  not  deserve. 
He  was  a  silent  giant,  not  given  to  useless  motions,  but 
you  felt  his  power  and  his  alertness.  It  used  to  give  me 
great  pleasure  merely  to  look  at  Macy. 

Unfortunately,  we  were  now  one  man  short,  and  the 
vacancy  was  in  Mr.  Brown's  boat,  for  Starbuck  had  been 
moved  into  Macy's  place  in  Mr.  Baker's  boat,  again  over 
the  head  of  the  man  to  whom  the  promotion  would  natu- 
rally fall.  This  was  Ezra  Winslow,  a  good-natured  young 
fellow,  but  rather  stupid,  and  not  nearly  as  good  a  man 
as  the  Prince.  There  were  few  men  in  the  whole  crew 
who  were  anywhere  near  as  good  as  the  Prince,  and  there 
was  another  boatsteerer  needed,  and  he  was  it.  I  do  not 
know  whether  it  was  the  usual  practice,  in  cases  of  the 
promotion  of  mates,  for  the  mates  who  were  moved  up  to 
keep  the  boats  and  crews  they  had  had  before,  but  they  did 
in  this  case.  The  Prince  was  therefore  Mr.  Brown's  boat- 
steerer. The  vacancy  in  his  boat  was  not  filled  for  some 
time,  but  it  worked  out  very  well  for  me. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

There  was  no  unfavorable  change  in  the  weather,  and 
we  cruised  for  three  weeks  without  getting  a  whale, 
or  even  raising  a  spout.  One  morning,  however,  after  a 
rather  thick  haze  had  cleared  away  somewhat,  we  found 
ourselves  within  half  a  mile  of  a  pod  of  six  or  seven,  which 
were  lying  on  the  surface,  spouting  lazily.  They  did  not 
seem  to  be  feeding,  and  I  remember  that  I  had  heard  a 
distant  splash  while  it  was  still  too  thick  to  see  them,  and 
Peter,  to  whom  I  had  turned  inquiringly,  had  said  that  it 
was  likely  a  whale  breaching.  Almost  everybody  on  board 
had  heard  it,  and  the  lookouts  were  doubled.  They  fully 
expected  to  sight  whales,  and  they  did  sight  them  from  the 
masthead  before  we  could  see  them  from  the  deck.  No  cry 
was  given,  but  the  men  came  down  and  reported. 

There  was  hardly  a  breath  of  wind,  and  sound  would 
carry  easily  in  that  weather.  Indeed,  it  was  uncanny. 
There  seemed  to  be  streaks  or  columns  in  the  air  which 
reflected  the  sound  in  the  strangest  ways,  or  acted  like  a 
lens  for  sound,  at  one  moment  utterly  cutting  off  sounds 
that  originated  but  a  short  distance  away,  and  at  the  next 
moment  sending  to  us  clearly  faint  noises  made  by  the  pod 
of  whales  at  a  half-mile  distance.  Boats  were  lowered  with 
the  utmost  care  not  to  make  a  noise,  even  being  put  into 
the  water  one  end  first,  to  avoid  any  splash.  The  men 
were  cautioned  not  to  talk,  and  they  sat  silent  in  their 
boats,  cast  off  the  falls  quietly,  and  took  to  their  paddles  as 
soon  as  the  boats  were  in  the  water.  It  was  of  no  use,  how- 
ever. The  whales  were  keeping  tabs  on  us,  and  went  down 
quietly  when  a  boat  was  within  quarter  of  a  mile  of  them, 
coming  up  half  a  mile  away.  It  was  exasperating.  There 
were  whales  almost  at  the  side,  more  than  we  had  taken 


174  SHE  BLOWS! 

in  six  months,  and  we  could  not  get  near  them ;  and  after 
trying  for  hours,  the  boats  were  called  back  to  the  ship. 

I  do  not  remember  that  I  felt  any  disappointment, 
however.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  was  rather  hoping  for  a  pam- 
pero. It  is  not  a  fish,  but  a  wind.  I  had  some  vague  recol- 
lection of  the  brief  description  in  Warren's  Physical  Geo- 
graphy as  a  cold  southwest  wind  which  originates  in  the 
Andes,  and  sweeps  with  great  violence  over  the  pampas 
of  Buenos  Ay  res,  and  is  felt  for  some  leagues  ^t  sea.  My 
only  comment  on  this  description  is  that  I  don't  believe 
it  for  a  minute.  We  were  cruising  just  south  of  the  lati- 
tude of  Buenos  Ayres,  three  or  four  hundred  miles  from 
the  coast.  No  wind  whose  origin  is  purely  local,  in 
mountains  even  as  high  as  the  Andes,  is  at  all  likely  to  be 
of  the  violence  of  the  sample  we  had,  after  traversing  the 
width  of  a  continent  —  narrow  as  it  is  at  this  latitude  — 
and  four  hundred  miles  of  ocean.  They  must  be  fed  from 
the  pampas,  be  supplied  with  energy,  at  least ;  and  it  seems 
much  more  reasonable  to  me  to  believe  that  these  winds 
originate  over  the  pampas.  They  are  of  the  nature  of  a 
thunder-squall,  and  very  probably  of  similar  origin.  But 
Warren  can  hardly  be  considered  a  recent  authority. 

I  had  my  wish  gratified,  and  I  shall  never  make  another 
wish  of  that  kind.  We  were  sailing  along  easily  in  a 
moderate  northerly  wind  about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon 
when  the  Admiral's  cry  came  down  to  us.  There  were 
two  spouts  to  the  eastward.  I  watched  them  rather  list- 
lessly, for  I  had  rather  lost  interest  in  spouts.  An  albatross 
or  a  frigate  bird  would  have  roused  much  more  interest. 
We  were  seeing  albatrosses  occasionally,  and  one  had 
followed  the  ship  for  two  days,  picking  up  scraps  from 
the  galley,  and  finally  following  the  carcass  of  a  whale 
when  we  cut  it  adrift.  But  the  whole  whale  business  had 
become  a  matter  of  routine. 

Three  boats  were  called  away,  Mr.  Baker's,  Mr. 
Brown's,  and  Mr.  Macy's.  I  had  to  move,  for  I  was  in  the 


IN  MR.  BROWN'S  BOAT  175 

way  of  one  of  them ;  and  I  moved  as  little  as  possible,  and 
gave  them  no  further  attention.  Then  I  heard  Mr.  Brown 
speaking  to  me. 

"  Here,  Tim,"  he  said.  "  If  you  think  you  can  pull  one 
of  these  oars,  tumble  in  here,  but  be  quick  about  it." 

Instantly  I  was  all  attention.  I  jumped  for  the  boat, 
but    stopped. 

"  The  captain  said,"  I  objected,  "  that  I  could  n't  go 
until  he  —  " 

"  Captain's  orders,"  he  interrupted  sharply.  "  Go  or 
not,  but  be  quick  or  the  other  boats  '11  get  away  first." 

I  made  no  reply,  but  gave  a  little  nervous  laugh  of 
delight,  and  tumbled  in.  I  did  not  know  whether  I  could 
row  one  of  the  long,  heavy  oars  or  not,  but  I  could  take 
two  hands  to  it,  and  I  had  rowed  all  my  life  in  every 
kind  of  a  boat,  light  and  heavy.  We  took  the  water,  and 
cast  off  the  falls,  and  shoved  clear.  Then  we  stepped  the 
mast  and  set  the  sail,  and  were  off  after  my  first  whale. 
All  the  men  were  kind  and  helpful,  but  the  Prince  took  me 
especially  under  his  wing,  and  told  me  what  my  duties 
were  in  stepping  the  mast.  When  we  were  under  sail  he 
gave  me  rapid  instructions  as  to  my  duties  in  meeting 
every  emergency  that  ever  arose  in  connection  with  the 
capture  of  a  whale.  I  could  not  remember  a  quarter  of 
them.  It  was  all  I  could  do  to  understand  them. 

Fortunately  I  did  not  have  to  remember.  No  emergency 
arose.  We  came  up  with  our  whale  without  much  pulling, 
the  Prince  planted  both  his  irons,  and  we  backed  off 
furiously.  The  whale  stopped,  astonished,  Mr.  Baker 
came  up  on  the  other  side,  and  Starbuck  got  an  iron  fast; 
but  not  before  the  whale  had  recovered  his  power  of 
motion,  so  that  Starbuck's  iron  entered  at  the  small,  and 
not  near  the  side  fin,  where  he  had  meant  to  place  it.  Mr. 
Baker's  boat  was  deluged  with  water  by  a  sweep  of  the 
flukes,  and  the  whale  was  under  way,  head  out.  Mr.  Macy, 
I  saw  later,  had  struck  the  other  whale,  and  was  having  no 
trouble. 


176  SHE  BLOWS! 

Our  whale  had  turned  about  to  the  eastward,  and  was 
running.  We  had  to  give  him  line  at  first,  and  the  whale 
line  went  twisting  and  writhing  out  past  me  like  a  living 
snake,  making  a  scraping,  hissing  noise  on  my  oar  handle. 
I  shrank  away  from  it.  Then,  with  another  turn  around 
the  loggerhead,  it  straightened  and  tautened,  and  did  not 
go  so  fast,  but  edged  by  me  foot  by  foot;  and  the  spray 
began  to  rise  in  a  miniature  cascade  on  each  side  of  the 
bow.  Then  another  turn  around  the  loggerhead,  and  the 
progress  of  the  line  past  me  was  by  inches,  slower  and 
slower,  and  I  could  hear  it  creaking.  Then  it  stopped, 
and  we  were  fairly  off  on  my  first  sleigh-ride  behind  a 
whale.  The  Prince  had  gone  aft  and  taken  the  steering 
oar,  and  Mr.  Brown  had  come  forward. 

The  boats  were  going  at  a  rate  which  seemed  terrific, 
nine  or  ten  knots.  Our  boat  rolled  viciously  in  the  cross- 
sea,  and  veered  and  bucked.  I  could  see  the  Prince  putting 
all  his  strength  and  weight  on  the  long  steering  oar, 
first  one  way  and  then  the  other,  to  meet  her  as  she  yawed, 
and  keep  her  on  a  straight  course.  The  cascades  of  spray 
rose  from  her  keel  now,  about  a  foot  or  two  aft  of  the 
stem,  higher  than  the  gunwale;  and  the  northerly  wind 
caught  one  of  them,  and  blew  it  inboard.  I  was  drenched 
with  it,  and  so  was  the  man  aft  of  me.  We  seemed  to  leap 
from  sea  to  sea.  When  I  gathered  courage  enough  to  look 
at  Mr.  Baker's  boat,  I  saw  that  that  was  a  mistaken  im- 
pression; but  I  felt  as  if  I  were  on  a  shingle  swung  skit- 
tering along  the  top  of  the  waves  at  the  end  of  a  pole. 

Mr.  Brown  ordered  us  to  heave  in  on  the  line.  We 
strained  our  backs  to  the  last  muscle,  but  could  only  gain 
a  fraction  of  an  inch.  Mr.  Baker's  crew  could  do  no 
better,  and  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  hang  on  and 
wait  for  the  whale  to  tire  and  slacken  speed.  I  looked  back 
- —  I  continued  to  look  back  —  and  saw  the  Clearchus 
already  hull  down.  I  could  see  no  sign  of  Mr.  Macy.  I 
watched  the  ship  until  she  sank  to  her  tops,  then  farther; 


SWEARING  AT  SEA  177 

then  I  could  no  longer  make  her  out  at  all.  And  still 
that  whale  kept  up  his  furious  gait,  head  out,  as  though 
he  were  bound  to  take  us  to  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  or 
to  the  Carroll  grounds  at  least. 

We  must  have  been  going  on  in  that  way  for  an  hour 
and  a  half  or  more  before  the  whale  showed  any  sign  of 
weariness.  It  needed  a  man  of  more  experience  than  I  had 
to  tell  the  symptoms,  or  to  perceive  that  our  speed  was 
slackening.  Mr.  Baker's  boat  was  just  about  abeam  of  ours, 
and  a  couple  of  oars'  lengths  away.  He  had  dropped  back 
a  boat's  length  or  so  to  avoid  fouling  us,  but  the  two 
boats  were  within  easy  speaking  distance,  and  Mr.  Baker 
and  Mr.  Brown  looked  at  each  other,  and  spoke  at  the 
same  instant. 

"Heave?" 

Then  they  both  nodded,  and  we  got  the  order.  We 
heaved,  and  gained  a  couple  of  inches ;  heaved  again,  and 
six  inches  of  line  came  in.  Mr.  Brown  was  not  a  yelling 
mate.  He  spoke  only  loud  enough  for  us  to  hear. 

Mr.  Baker  was  an  accomplished  swearer,  a  linguist  of 
parts.  I  did  not  know  there  was  such  a  variety  of  oaths 
in  the  language  until  I  heard  him  swearing  at  his  crew, 
urging  them  to  heave,  and  calling  them  more  vile  names 
than  you  would  think  any  men  would  be  willing  to  hear 
quietly.  Swearing  was  very  general  on  the  Clearchus, 
and  none  of  Mr.  Baker's  language  was  to  be  taken  seri- 
ously, which,  of  course,  the  men  knew.  I  do  not  know  what 
it  is  about  the  sea  that  prompts  men  to  swear,  but  there 
must  be  something.  Most  of  them  get  so  that  they  cannot 
make  the  simplest  remark  without  an  oath.  I  was  getting 
into  the  habit  myself,  although  I  had  never  been  accus- 
tomed to  using  such  language  or  to  hearing  it.  Before  I 
left  home  I  had  tried  once  or  twice  saying  "  Damn !"  with 
inward  quakings,  and  half  expecting  to  see  the  heavens 
fall;  now  I  said  "  Damn!"  and  other  things  quite  fluently, 
without  quakings  of  any  kind,  and  before  I  got  home  I 


178  SHE  BLOWS! 

was  a  confirmed  swearer.  It  is  a  bad  habit,  and  weakens 
what  is  said  rather  than  strengthening  it.  When  I  real- 
ized this  I  broke  myself  of  the  habit.  Mr.  Brown  was 
no  swearer,  nor  was  Mr.  Macy,  nor  Peter  Bottom,  nor 
the  Prince,  all  of  whom  I  admired,  each  according  to  his 
•  fashion. 

With  all  Mr.  Baker's  flow  of  language,  his  crew  did 
not  gain  an  inch  more  than  we  did;  but  the  heaving  must 
have  had  its  effect  on  the  whale.  There  was  still  a  good 
deal  of  line  out,  perhaps  fifteen  or  twenty  fathoms,  when 
he  seemed  to  stop  suddenly.  There  was  a  general  cry  of 
"  Flukes !"  and  his  flukes  went  into  the  air,  and  he  sounded. 

When  Starbuck  had  struck,  as  I  have  said,  he  was  a 
trifle  late.  He  succeeded  in  getting  one  iron  fast  —  in 
the  small  —  but  had  to  heave  the  other  overboard.  This 
second  harpoon  had  been  skittering  over  the  waves  ever 
since,  here  and  there,  according  to  its  whim.  It  had  not 
touched  our  line,  although  Mr.  Brown  had  been  afraid 
that  it  would;  and  it  might  easily  have  touched  our  line, 
for  a  whale  swims  low  in  the  water,  and  there  is  seldom 
any  part  of  him  continually  visible  aft  of  his  hump,  so 
that  there  is  nothing  in  the  way.  But  the  harpoon  had 
touched  Mr.  Baker's  line  several  times  —  a  good  many 
times;  each  touch  lasting  but  an  instant,  like  the  bite  of 
a  shark.  A  harpoon  is  even  sharper  than  a  shark's  tooth, 
and  each  touch  had  severed  some  of  the  tough  strands. 
It  was  a  wonder  that  the  line  had  survived  the  heaving. 
It  must  have  only  just  survived.  When  the  whale  sounded, 
Mr.  Baker  did  not  give  him  line,  but  was  holding  until 
last  second.  This  may  have  been  the  proverbial  last  straw, 
or  it  may  have  been  simply  that  the  time  had  come  for 
the  line  to  part.  At  any  rate,  it  parted.  Mr.  Baker  cursed 
fluently  in  a  really  heartfelt  way,  and  the  line  was  rapidly 
hauled  in.  The  last  fathom  of  it  was  a  mere  feather  of 
manila. 

This  left  us  alone  fast  to  the  whale.  He  did  not  go 


KILLING  A  WHALE  179 

deep,  however,  and  Mr.  Baker  was  waiting,  near  us,  for 
him  to  come  up,  which  he  did  in  about  five  minutes  a 
few  feet  ahead  of  Mr.  Baker's  boat.  He  came  up  almost 
vertically,  his  head  and  body  shooting  out  of  the  water, 
and  exposing  his  side  fin.  Then  he  fell  over  with  a  tre- 
mendous splash;  but  Mr.  Baker  had  shot  his  lance  into 
him,  and  quickly  withdrawn  it.  The  shank  was  bent,  but 
Mr.  Baker  straightened  it  by  knocking  on  the  gunwale, 
and  let  him  have  it  again. 

Meanwhile  we  had  been  taking  in  our  slack  line  as 
fast  as  we  could,  and  when  it  tautened,  heaving  in  on  it 
to  bring  us  up  close  enough  for  Mr.  Brown  to  use  his 
lance.  We  had  not  been  able  to  keep  the  slack  ahead  of  the 
whale,  with  all  our  haste,  and  he  had  got  a  turn  around 
his  flukes,  like  a  half  hitch,  so  that  we  could  not  shake 
it  loose.  It  was  impossible  for  us  to  haul  in  ahead  of  his 
flukes,  and  lancing  them  would  be  no  more  than  an  annoy- 
ance to  the  whale,  like  a  mosquito  bite.  If  he  should  take  it 
into  his  head  to  slap  that  mosquito,  it  might  prove  more 
than  an  annoyance  for  us.  There  was  nothing  to  be  done 
but  to  slack  off  the  line  and  try  to  row  up  to  his  side  fin, 
where  Mr.  Brown  wanted  to  be.  We  could  not  have  hoped 
to  do  this  if  the  whale's  attention  had  not  been  taken  up 
with  Mr.  Baker's  boat.  He  seemed  to  attribute  all  his 
troubles  to  that  boat,  and  was  putting  up  a  half-hearted 
sort  of  a  fight;  but  even  a  half-hearted  fight  by  a  fairly 
husky  whale  is  not  to  be  taken  lightly.  Mr.  Baker  was 
having  his  hands  full. 

We  pulled  up  to  within  a  boat's  length,  lay  there  for 
a  few  minutes  watching  for  an  opening;  then,  putting 
all  our  strength  into  our  oars,  we  drove  the  boat  in  close 
to  the  side  fin.  Mr.  Brown  plunged  the  lance  in  deep,  and 
began  churning  it  slowly  up  and  down,  feeling  for  the 
heart  or  the  great  reservoir  of  arterial  blood  near  it. 
The  whale  had  lobtailed  once  upon  feeling  the  lance, 
without    doing    any    damage;    but  in  a  few  strokes  Mr. 


180  SHE  BLOWS! 

Brown's  lance  had  found  the  life.  A  tremor  passed  through 
the  great  body,  a  spout  rose  slowly  from  his  spiracle 
black  with  clotted  blood,  he  bestirred  himself,  and  we 
backed  off  hastily.  He  was  going  into  his  flurry. 

That  flurry  was  not  an  elevating  spectacle,  but  we  all 
watched  it.  I  was  fascinated,  and  so  the  others  seemed 
to  be,  all  in  Mr.  Baker's  boat  as  well  as  in  ours.  Our  at- 
tention for  a  long  time  had  been  so  entirely  taken  up 
by  the  whale  that  not  a  man  of  the  twelve  —  counting 
myself  as  a  man  —  had  looked  about  him,  or  been  aware 
of  anything  but  the  whale  and  the  two  boats,  and  what 
was  happening  there.  Suddenly  Mr.  Baker  broke  out  in 
a  perfect  stream  of  curses.  Mr.  Brown  smiled. 

"  Look !"  he  said.  "  Like  a  bad  penny." 

We  all  looked  where  he  pointed.  There  was  the  Annie 
Battles,  not  a  mile  away,  bearing  down  directly  upon  us. 
Not  one  of  us  said  a  word,  but  two  or  three  were  grinning. 
It  was  beginning  to  seem  funny. 

Mr.  Baker  did  not  seem  to  think  it  funny.  He  had 
stopped  his  flow  of  profanity,  whether  because  he  had  ex- 
hausted his  stock,  or  because  his  choicest  gems  were  inade- 
quate, I  could  not  guess ;  and  now,  standing  in  his  place  in 
the  bow  like  a  gaunt  statue  of  a  man,  silent  and  motionless, 
he  watched  the  Battles  grow  rapidly,  and  the  foam  under 
her  forefoot,  and  the  men  upon  her  deck.  He  held  his  lance 
loosely  in  his  hand,  the  shank  resting  on  the  gunwale.  If 
she  had  shown  any  sign  of  changing  her  course,  I  knew 
that  he  would  have  ordered  his  crew  to  pull  hard  for  her, 
in  the  hope  of  boarding  her  before  she  got  away.  She  did 
not ;  and  there  is  no  sense  in  hard  pulling  to  meet  a  vessel 
which  is  coming  to  meet  you  as  straight  and  as  fast  as 
she  can.  And,  although  Mr.  Baker  was  holding  his  lance 
loosely,  I  knew  that  his  great  fist  would  grip  it  hard  at 
the  slightest  provocation. 

At  last  the  Battles  put  her  helm  down,  slacked  off 
her  sheets,  backed  one  topsail,  and  hung  there,  almost  near 


THE  BATTLES  AGAIN  181 

enough  for  us  to  heave  a  line  aboard  of  her.  No  one  on 
her  hailed  us,  but  some  of  her  men  were  standing  at  the 
rail  like  wooden  images,  watching  us,  while  others  were 
going  lazily  aloft.  By  this  time  our  whale  had  spouted 
his  last  spout,  and  lay  quiet  in  the  sea,  with  our  irons 
still  in  him  and  our  line  fast  to  them.  Mr.  Baker's  men 
had  their  oars  in  the  water,  and  his  boat  seemed  to  be 
drifting  toward  the  Battles.  I  saw  Mr.  Wallet  and  another 
standing  by  the  man  at  the  wheel.  I  could  see  even  his 
feeble  smile  and  his  pale  blue  eyes  and  his  tight  curling 
hair,  almost  like  a  negro's  but  for  the  color.  Mr.  Wallet's 
was  sandy,  with  a  reddish  tinge,  like  brown  sandstone; 
some  of  our  men  had  called  his  hair  his  brownstone  front. 
When  he  saw  Mr.  Baker's  boat  drifting  toward  them, 
he  moved  uneasily,  his  smile  faded,  and  he  spoke  to  the 
man  standing  with  him.  He  knew  Mr.  Baker  of  old. 

Mr.  Baker  did  not  wait  to  get  there.  "  If  you  try  to 
steal  this  whale,"  he  shouted,  "  why,  damn  your  souls, 
there  '11  be  blood  spilled." 

The  man  to  whom  Mr.  Wallet  had  spoken  was  leaning 
on  the  rail.  He  laughed.  "  There 's  been  blood  spilled 
already,  ain't  there?  Seems  to  me  I  see  it  on  your  lance." 

"  That 's  good  clean  blood  of  a  whale !  "  retorted  Mr. 
Baker.  "  There  's  other  blood  waiting  that  ain't  so  clean. 
I  'd  hate  to  dirty  a  good  lance  with  it." 

"  Cheap  talk !  "  said  the  other  contemptuously.  "  We 
don't  steal  whales." 

The  boat  was  now  within  an  oar's  length  of  the  side  of 
the  Battles. 

"  I  'm  coming  aboard,"  said  Mr.  Baker,  "  to  see  Cap'n 
Coffin  about  it  —  and  about  another  matter." 

"  You  can't  see  Cap'n  Coffin,"  replied  the  other,  who 
seemed  to  be  one  of  the  mates,  and  in  command  of  the 
vessel  at  the  moment,  "  and  you  don't  come  aboard  of 
us.  Sheer  off  there !  " 

A  number  of  the  men  at  the  rail  of  the  Battles  showed 


182  SHE  BLOWS! 

themselves  to  have  spades  in  their  hands.  They  put  the 
spades  over  the  side,  and  held  them  suspended  there. 

"Keep  off!"  said  the  mate  of  the  Battles.  "We'll 
smash  it !  " 

For  Mr.  Baker  had  taken  the  boathook,  and  had  hooked 
on  to  their  chains.  He  was  drawing  the  boat  up  close, 
when  a  spade  smashed  down  on  the  boathook  just  back 
of  the  iron,  and  cut  it  off  clean. 

Perhaps  it  was  too  serious  a  matter  for  mere  cursing. 
At  any  rate,  Mr.  Baker  said  nothing  at  all  for  some 
seconds,  to  our  great  surprise. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said  then,  quietly,  "  if  you  'd  rather 
have  it  that  way,  so  be  it.  I  '11  report  it  — -  fully.  Now  I 
make  demand  upon  you  for  Alonzo  Wallet,  formerly 
second  mate  of  the  Clearchus,  a  deserter  from  his  ship." 

The  mate  of  the  Battles  smiled,  and  beckoned  Mr. 
Wallet.  He  came,  with  his  weak  smile  again  upon  his 
face. 

"  What 's  wanted  of  me?"  he  asked. 

"  Cap'n  Nelson  wants  you,"  Mr.  Baker  replied, 
m  strange  as  it  may  seem ;  for  you  're  the  most  good-for- 
nothing  officer  that  ever  I  shipped  with." 

With  those  spades  between  him  and  Mr.  Baker,  Wallet's 
courage  had  revived,  but  he  no  longer  smiled.  He  leaned 
over  the  rail  as  far  as  he  could,  and  shook  a  feeble  finger 
at  Mr.   Baker. 

"  Tell  the  old  man  to  go  to  hell,"  he  said ;  "  and  go  to 
hell  yourself,  will  you,  Jehoram?  You  're  bound  there  now 
if  you  don't  look  sharp." 

He  pointed  to  the  southwest.  The  sun  had  disappeared 
behind  a  heavy  mass  of  black  cloud,  in  which  there  ap- 
peared, as  we  looked  at  it,  the  glare  of  lightning.  I  had 
thought  that  it  seemed  early  for  it  to  be  getting  dark,  but 
it  had  not  occurred  to  me  to  look.  The  mass  of  clouds  was 
but  just  above  our  horizon.  A  few  men  in  the  two  boats 
had  observed  it.  Mr.  Brown  and  Mr.  Baker  had  seen  it  foi 


A  BLACK  CLOUD  183 

fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  past.  It  may  have  accounted  for 
Mr.  Baker's  readiness  to  cut  short  his  controversy  with 
the  Battles. 

"  I  've  known  about  that  for  some  time,  Wallet/'  said 
Mr.  Baker ;  "  and  let  me  tell  you  that  you  're  in  much 
more  danger  of  going  to  hell  in  the  next  hour  than  I  am.' 
A  whaleboat  's  the  safest  thing  that  rides  the  sea.  Maybe 
you  did  n't  know  it.  And  you  'd  better  shorten  sail  some 
more,"  he  added,  "  if  you  hope  to  ride  it  out." 

For  the  only  answer  to  this  the  mate  —  if  he  was  the 
mate  —  and  Mr.  Wallet  both  turned  and  looked  up  at 
the  sails.  The  men  who  had  gone  aloft  had  been  engaged  in 
reefing  the  topsails  in  a  very  leisurely  manner.  Now  they 
had  to  put  in  another  reef  in  response  to  orders  yelled  by 
the  mate,  and  they  worked  faster.  Mr.  Baker  came  back  to 
the  whale,  and  the  Battles  slowly  drifted  to  the  south- 
ward, taking  in  her  great  mainsail  and  her  foresail  and 
two  of  her  jibs,  leaving  her  under  staysail  and  double- 
reefed  topsails.  By  the  time  that  was  done,  she  had  got 
well  away  from  us,  and  the  black  cloud  covered  half  the 
heavens.  Mr.  Baker  had  rowed  up  to  the  whale,  and  had 
deliberately  planted  another  iron  deep  in  the  small,  near 
his  first  one.  I  asked  no  questions,  but  Mr.  Brown  must 
have  read  them  in  my  face. 

"Getting  ready  to  ride  it  out,  Tim,"  he  said,  smiling 
kindly.  We  had  nothing  to  do,  having  fifteen  or  twenty 
fathoms  of  line  out,  and  he  was  leaning  against  the  cleat, 
watching.  "  A  whale  's  a  ready  made  sea-anchor,  if  he  only 
stays  afloat;  and  I  guess  he  will.  And  we  shall  be  in  his 
lee,  where  the  seas  won't  be  quite  so  high  —  although 
there  's  not  much  of  the  carcass  showing." 

I  turned  and  looked  at  the  whale  doubtfully. 

"  I  should  think,  sir,"  I  ventured,  "  that  Mr.  Baker 
might  foul  us,  or  we  him,  if  he  has  about  the  same  length 
of  line  that  we  have." 

"  No,"  Mr.  Brown  replied,  smiling  again.  "  A  drifting 


184  SHE  BLOWS! ' 

body  always  drifts  broadside  to  the  wind  —  to  the  resist- 
ance. I  could  prove  that  to  you  by  mathematics  if  we  had 
the  chance,  and  if  I  had  n't  forgotten  the  proof.  But  ex- 
perience proves  the  proof  to  be  correct,  which  is  much 
more  convincing  than  mere  mathematics.  You  notice." 

I  nodded.  "  Yes,  sir,  I  will,  if  —  " 

Mr.  Brown  laughed.  "  If  we  get  out  of  this,  eh?  We 
shall.  Make  your  mind  easy." 

The  carcass  of  the  whale  was  lying  nearly  east  and  west 
under  the  northerly  wind.  As  the  squall  —  pampero  or 
whatever  it  was  —  advanced,  the  wind  dropped,  until  we 
were  heaving  on  an  oily  swell  in  a  flat  calm.  The  men  in 
Mr.  Baker's  boat  took  that  chance  of  backing  water,  and 
of  working  the  body  of  the  whale  slowly  around  until  it 
lay  very  nearly  north  and  south,  while  the  squall  was 
coming  from  the  southwest.  Then  there  was  nothing  to  do 
but  to  watch  the  clouds,  and  to  wait  for  the  wind  to  strike. 

The  edge  of  the  cloud  seemed  to  be  directly  over  us, 
writhing  and  twisting,  and  it  was  almost  as  dark  as  night. 

"  There  she  comes,"  said  Mr.  Brown  quietly ;  and  I  saw 
what  seemed  a  blank  wall  of  mist,  with  the  black  cloud 
above.  We  could  see  it  some  miles  away,  and  it  was  com- 
ing   fast. 

"  Fog,  sir  ?"  I  asked,  puzzled. 

"  Rain,  and  hail,  probably,  and  wind,"  said  Mr.  Brown. 

As  it  came  on  I  could  see  the  line  of  rain  and  hail,  as 
sharp  as  the  cut  side  of  a  cheese;  and  there  was  a  queer 
foaming  commotion  in  the  water  at  the  foot  of  the  advanc- 
ing wall.  It  had  got  almost  to  the  carcass  of  the  whale 
before  we  felt  the  first  cold  puffs  of  air.  Those  first  cold 
puffs  were  from  every  direction,  some  straight  up;  and 
the  foaming  commotion  in  the  water  resolved  itself  into 
an  infinite  series  of  small  geysers,  from  one  to  two  feet 
high,  like  columns  of  water  sent  up  by  explosions  of  shells, 
such  as  I  have  seen  many  times  in  the  last  few  years  when 
the  Fort  has  been  at  target  practice.  At  a  distance  of  six 


PELTED  WITH  HAIL  185 

or  seven  miles,  even  through  a  powerful  glass,  they  look 
no  higher  than  these  did. 

The  edge  of  the  wall  reached  the  carcass,  and  there  was 
a  curious  effect  of  bombardment  with  small  white  rubber 
balls  —  I  should  have  thought  at  once  of  tennis  balls  if  I 
had  then  ever  seen  a  tennis  ball  —  the  balls  bounding  high 
from  the  elastic  surface  of  the  carcass.  I  knew  it  then  for 
hail.  The  wall  was  past  the  whale,  and  completely  hid  it 
from  sight,  less  than  a  hundred  feet  off,  and  the  wind 
struck  us  like  a  blow  from  a  chunk  of  ice.  Then  the  hail 
struck  us,  hail  mixed  with  rain. 

We  hardly  knew  what  to  do  to  protect  our  heads.  It 
was  like  being  pelted  with  rocks  —  rocks  which  there  was 
no  escaping.  They  were  everywhere.  I  instinctively  put 
up  my  hands  over  my  head,  and  had  to  take  them  down 
again,  for  the  bones  of  my  hands  were  being  bruised, 
and  I  was  really  afraid  they  might  be  broken.  None  of  us 
had  a  stiff  hat,  but  all  wore  soft  hats  or  caps  or  were  bare- 
headed. I  did  not  mind  the  wind  —  I  was  not  conscious 
of  it  —  and  I  did  not  see  what  the  others  did ;  but  I  found 
myself  crawling  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  partly  under 
a  thwart,  and  pulling  out  a  corner  of  the  sail  to  protect 
my  head.  When  I  had  time  to  think  of  anything  but  the 
safety  of  my  own  head,  I  saw  that  the  others  had  done 
the  same  thing. 

I  looked  out  from  my  protecting  canvas,  and  saw  the 
water  absolutely  filled  with  those  miniature  geysers.  The 
hail  had  beaten  down  the  sea,  in  spite  of  the  furious  wind, 
until  the  surface  was  almost  as  smooth  as  a  pond,  with 
the  rollers  running  under  it  as  if  the  water  were  covered 
with  silk.  After  a  while  —  perhaps  half  an  hour,  perhaps  a 
quarter  —  the  hail  stopped,  and  left  only  the  rain  and 
the  wind,  and  the  rapidly  growing  seas.  We  were  sitting  in 
a  deep  slush  of  water  and  hailstones,  and  the  hailstones 
weighed  heavily  on  my  legs.  They  were  beautiful,  round, 
white  stones,  many  as  large  as  robins'  eggs,  but  most  of 


186  SHE  BLOWS! 

them  the  size  of  marbles.  The  boat  was  deep  with  them, 
and  rolled  sluggishly.  We  had  to  get  them  out  at  once, 
which  we  did  with  a  couple  of  buckets,  our  hats  and  our 
hands,  shoveling  them  over  the  side. 

I  have  never  in  my  life  known  it  to  blow  harder  than 
it  did  in  the  next  few  hours.  We  rode  it  out,  safe  in  the 
lee  of  our  sea  anchor,  drenched  to  the  skin,  all  of  us,  and 
very  cold.  Although  the  sea  rose  very  quickly  as  soon  as 
the  hail  stopped,  and  ran  very  high,  the  carcass  of  the 
whale  seemed  to  smooth  the  seas  out,  and  none  broke 
around  us;  but  the  boats  stood  almost  on  end.  My  heart 
was  in  my  mouth  most  of  the  time,  but  I  do  not  think 
my  apprehensions  were  evident  to  the  others.  Heaven 
knows  I  tried  hard  enough,  for  I  was  even  more  afraid  of 
showing  fear  than  I  was  of  the  wind  and  the  sea.  I  think 
the  fact  that  we  were  in  a  small  boat,  and  near  the  water, 
was  a  help.  I  was  more  used  to  that,  and,  somehow,  I  never 
feel  so  helpless  in  a  small  boat  as  I  do  in  a  ship.  I  have 
not  got  over  that  feeling  to  this  day.  I  suppose  I  should 
have  felt  better  still  if  I  had  been  alone  or  with  no  one  but 
Jimmy  Appleby.  A  man  seems  to  have  more  of  a  chance  in 
a  small  boat,  and  is  not  sub j  ect  to  the  orders  —  and  the 
mistakes  —  of  somebody.  That  somebody  might  be  like 
Mr.  Wallet.  If  there  is  a  mistake,  it  is  his  own. 

Night  fell  while  it  was  blowing  viciously  and  raining. 
In  a  few  hours  the  rain  stopped,  but  the  wind  did  not.  It 
seemed  to  blow  harder,  and  it  gradually  shifted  to  the 
southeast;  and  after  a  while  the  stars  came  out.  I  do  not 
know  how  long  it  was,  for  I  had  lost  all  sense  of  time. 
I  had  got  over  the  worst  of  my  scare,  and  I  was  too  tired 
to  think.  I  crouched  down  in  the  boat,  and  I  fell  asleep, 
soaked  and  cold  as  I  was. 

It  was  gray  dawn  when  I  awoke,  stiff  and  cramped.  I 
saw  Mr.  Brown  in  his  place,  gazing  out  at  the  eastern 
sky.  He  had  been  awake  all  night,  ready  to  cut  if  the  car- 
cass of  the  whale  showed  signs  of  sinking;  but  it  was  still 


NO  SHIP  IN  SIGHT  187 

afloat,  and  no  lower  in  the  water  than  it  had  been  the 
night  before.  Mr.  Baker's  boat  was  so  near  that  we  could 
almost  have  touched  oars. 

I  made  some  noise  in  crawling  out.  Mr.  Brown  turned 
his  head  and  smiled  at  me,  but  said  nothing.  I  took  that 
as  a  sort  of  an  invitation.  I  got  up  and  stood  beside  him, 
and  we  looked  out  together  over  that  desolate  waste  of 
heaving  gray  water,  with  the  white  tops  of  breaking  seas, 
and  a  faint  touch  of  light  here  and  there,  and  gray  clouds 
driving  over,  but  no  color  yet.  I  was  oppressed  with  that 
feeling  of  melancholy  and  loneliness  —  and  littleness  — 
which  always  seized  me  at  such  a  time.  I  think  Mr.  Brown 
felt  it  too.  I  looked  around  me,  and  saw  two  men  evidently 
just  awake,  and  the  Prince  standing  like  a  statue,  silent 
and  dignified,  gazing  at  the  east.  I  could  not  help  wonder- 
ing afresh  what  he  was  in  his  own  country,  and  what  was 
his  own  country.  Whatever  country  it  was,  he  ought  to 
have  been  a  chief  in  it  —  princeps  —  instead  of  being  no 
more  than  a  boatsteerer  on  a  whaler,  and  the  associate  of 
men  few  of  whom  were  his  equals.  If  it  had  been  the 
fashion  to  be  black,  instead  of  white,  even  the  officers,  ex- 
cepting Mr.  Brown  and  Mr.  Macy,  would  have  been  his 
acknowledged  inferiors. 

There  was  no  sign  of  the  Battles  or  of  the  Clearchus  — 
nothing  within  our  horizon  but  the  wide  ocean,  deep  indigo 
in  the  distance,  with  great  seas  rolling  and  tumbling,  dark 
green  near  the  boat,  their  tops  a  ghastly  white.  After  an 
hour  or  two  my  heart  began  to  sink.  How  could  it  be  ex- 
pected that  anybody  would  find  us,  a  speck  in  that  vast 
and  dreary  expanse  of  ocean?  Mr.  Brown  seemed  con- 
fident enough,  but  my  heart  had  sunk  down  into  my  soaked 
boots  when,  in  the  middle  of  the  forenoon,  he  spoke  to  me. 
No  doubt  he  guessed  my  feelings.  They  may  have  been 
evident   enough. 

"  See  there,  Tim ;  almost  abeam  of  us." 

We  were  streaming  out  to  the  northwest  behind  the 


188  .  SHE  BLOWS! 

whale.  I  looked,  but  I  could  see  nothing  but  the  tops  of 
distant  seas  rising  and  falling.  I  shook  my  head. 

"  Can't  you  make  it  out  ?  Three  stubby  topmasts,  almost 
in  line,  and  the  to'gallan'yards  ?  If  you  knew  them  as  well 
as  I  do  —  " 

"TheClearchus?" 

He  nodded.  "  I  think  so.  I  *m  pretty  sure." 

He  was  right,  as  he  was  apt  to  be.  Mr.  Baker  had  seen 
it  too.  The  Clearchus  picked  us  up  before  noon,  got  the 
whale  alongside,  and  began  to  cut-in  at  once,  rough  and 
blowing  as  it  was.  She  had  been  caught  by  the  blow  with 
Mr.  Macy's  whale  alongside.  They  saw  the  blow  coming, 
and  tried  to  save  the  case,  but  they  did  not  succeed,  and 
the  whale  broke  adrift,  taking  some  of  our  tackle  with  it. 
They  had  to  cut  and  run  for  it.  We  never  saw  that  whale 
again. 

It  moderated  toward  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  and 
by  the  time  we  were  ready  to  try  out,  we  had  a  clear  sky 
and  a  gentle  breeze* 


CHAPTER  XIX 

That  was  our  last  whale  on  these  grounds,  and  we  turned 
our  nose  again  to  the  southwest,  for  the  grounds  off  Pat- 
agonia. Nourishing  the  secret  hope  that  we  might  land 
there,  I  carried  the  "  Navigators  "  around  in  my  pocket, 
and  read  over  again  and  again  the  account  of  Magellan's 
visit  —  all  to  no  purpose,  as  it  turned  out.  We  saw  noth- 
ing of  the  Battles ;  but  she  had  a  nasty  habit  of  turning  up 
when  we  thought  we  had  lost  her  for  good  and  least  ex- 
pected to  see  her.  She  had  become  as  a  thorn  in  the  flesh 
to  Captain  Nelson  and  Mr.  Baker,  especially  to  Mr.  Baker. 
I  really  think  that  at  this  time  it  would  have  given  him 
pleasure,  as  exquisite  as  he  was  capable  of  feeling,  act- 
ually to  see  her,  with  his  own  eyes,  go  down  in  deep  water 
or  batter  to  pieces  on  a  rocky  shore.  I  know  that  he  had 
reported  to  Captain  Nelson  his  controversy  with  her,  his 
unsuccessful  effort  to  see  Captain  Coffin,  and  Wallet's 
message.  Captain  Nelson  was  angry  for  an  instant,  and 
his  eyes  darkened;  then  the  whole  thing  seemed  to  strike 
his  sense  of  humor,  which  he  had  in  plenty. 

"  Just  as  well,"  he  said,  "  you  did  n't  see  Fred  Coffin. 
I  'm  going  to  see  Fred  sooner  or  later  —  the  first  chance 
I  get.  And  that  settles  Wallet." 

We  had  good  weather  to  the  Patagonia  grounds,  mostly 
westerly  and  northerly  winds,  and  pretty  strong,  but  noth- 
ing in  the  way  of  weather  could  scare  me  now,  after  the 
Hatteras  hurricane  —  of  which  we  had  nothing  more  than 
a  flirt  from  the  skirt  —  and  my  taste  of  pampero.  The 
old  ship  made  good  time,  as  time  goes  for  a  whaler  of  her 
type,  and  we  arrived  on  the  grounds  to  the  north  of  the 
Falklands  in  about  a  week.  I  was  disappointed  that  we 
did  not  go  even  within  sight  of  the  mainland  of  Patagonia. 


190  SHE  BLOWS! 

Albatrosses  were  a  fairly  common  sight,  however,  and 
made  up  to  me  somewhat  for  the  lack  of  painted  savages. 
In  these  latitudes  there  was  almost  always  at  least  one  of 
these  great  birds  in  sight,  and  although  they  were  not 
always  near  the  ship,  they  never  failed  to  be  on  hand 
when  the  cook  emptied  his  pail  of  scraps  over  the  side. 
I  never  tired  of  watching  their  powerful,  soaring  flight. 
It  seemed  as  if  they  played  with  the  ship,  like  porpoises. 
They  would  keep  along  with  us  for  a  while,  then  suddenly 
shoot  ahead  or  off  to  one  side  until  they  were  almost  out 
of  sight,  without  a  motion  of  the  wings,  so  far  as  I  could 
see.  There  must  have  been  some  slight  motion  of  the  wings 
to  adjust  themselves  to  the  wind  or  to  the  vertical  angle 
at  which  they  were  flying,  but  I  could  not  detect  it. 

There  have  been  various  explanations,  none  of  which  is 
quite  satisfactory.  One  is  that  they  make  a  long  glide 
downward  to  get  up  speed ;  and,  having  speed  enough,  they 
change  their  angle,  and  gain  height.  How  they  can  do  this 
indefinitely  without  an  occasional  flap,  I  never  could  see. 
Their  slight  rolling  motion  may  do  the  trick,  first  on  one 
wing  and  then  on  the  other.  I  do  not  pretend  to  knowl- 
edge of  the  matter,  but  I  am  content  to  let  a  beautiful 
mystery  remain  a  mystery. 

Whales  were  not  plenty  here.  We  took  one  in  two  weeks, 
and  then  we  gave  it  up,  and  bore  away  for  the  Falklands, 
for  Port  Stanley.  Here  the  captain  went  ashore,  and  we 
stood  off  shore  and  on  for  some  hours.  At  this  point  and 
this  season  the  current  sets  to  the  northeast  about  fifteen 
or  twenty  miles  a  day,  and  we  made  a  rough  allowance  for 
that  by  standing  off  shore  for  thirty  minutes,  and  on  shore 
for  thirty-five,  until  Captain  Nelson  came  back. 

We  had  strong  westerly  winds  for  days,  and  the  crew 
had  much  time  to  themselves.  They  used  this  time  in  mend- 
ing their  clothes  or  in  scrimshawing.  Peter  was  getting  on 
with  his  model,  which  was  beginning  to  look  like  a  glori- 
fied Clearchus,  a  tiny  ghost  of  the  ship.  The  masts  were  in 


INTIMACY  WITH  MR.  BROWN       191 

place,  and  most  of  the  yards,  and  he  had  finished  one  of 
the  wee  whaleboats,  which  he  had  hung  at  the  davits.  It 
was  completely  equipped,  even  to  the  harpoons,  lances, 
and  the  bomb  gun  lying  under  the  cleat,  to  which  it  was 
attached  by  a  thread  through  the  stock. 

Although  my  duties  were  not  affected  by  the  lightening 
of  the  duties  of  the  crew,  I  could  almost  always  find  time 
for  doing  the  things  which  I  ought  not  to  do,  if  I  watched 
my  chance.  I  studied  rather  harder  in  periods  of  a  letting 
up  of  work,  for  at  such  times  Mr.  Brown  could  give  me 
more  attention.  He  seemed  to  like  to  do  it;  and  I  had 
reached  a  pitch  of  admiration  for  him  which  was  almost 
worship,  so  that  I  did  willingly  and  gladly  anything  which 
I  thought  would  please  him.  He  was  pleased,  I  think,  and 
satisfied.  At  any  rate,  he  knew  that  I  was  doing  my  best, 
and  he  rewarded  me  with  a  greater  intimacy  than  I  had 
ever  known  with  a  man  as  much  older  than  myself,  not 
excepting  even  my  father.  True  intimacy  involves  an  equal 
footing,  and  that  was  what  I  never  felt  in  the  case  of  my 
father  —  never  could  feel,  from  the  nature  of  the  relation- 
ship. 

There  was  always  plenty  of  work  for  the  carpenter  and 
sailmaker  and  cooper,  and  I  used  to  watch  the  boatsteer- 
ers  overhauling  the  boat  gear,  and  the  consequent  sharp- 
ening of  harpoons  and  lances  and  spades.  The  sound  of 
the  grindstone  was  almost  continuous.  I  had  talks  with 
Peter  Bottom,  of  course,  and  some  with  the  Prince.  It 
was  always  hard  to  talk  with  him,  for  he  had  very  little 
to  say  except  with  respect  to  the  use  of  his  especial  tools 
and  the  chasing  of  whales.  He  would  deliver  long  dis- 
courses upon  this  subject,  and  I  might  have  profited 
greatly  if  it  had  been  easier  to  understand  him.  I  should 
have  preferred  to  have  him  talk  about  his  own  country, 
which  I  was  firmly  convinced  was  a  savage  country,  in 
which  all  the  inhabitants  wore  nothing  but  straw  skirts 
and  nose  rings  and  skewers  through  their  lips;  and  where 


192  SHE  BLOWS! 

they  stood  around  in  groups,  holding  long  spears  and  oval 
shields,  like  the  pictures  in  my  geography. 

They  got  out  the  remains  of  our  stoven  boat,  and  set 
it  up  near  the  carpenter's  bench.  When  I  got  there  the 
sailmaker  and  Peter  Bottom  were  looking  over  the  broken 
bones  of  the  boat,  feeling  them,  testing  a  rib  or  a  plank 
here  and  there.  They  seemed  to  know  what  they  were 
about,  although  they  said  nothing.  It  was  just  the  way  my 
father  or  one  of  his  men  would  have  gone  about  such  a 
job.  The  very  movements  of  the  sailmaker,  as  he  went  to 
the  pile  of  new  cedar  planking,  and  turned  it  over,  and  of 
Peter,  as  he  picked  out  a  piece  of  oak  that  suited  him,  re- 
minded me  of  my  father's  men. 

I  stuck  around  for  some  time,  watching  their  skilful, 
leisurely  movements.  I  knew  good  ship  carpentry  when  I 
saw  it,  for  I  had  been  observing  it  all  my  short  life,  and 
I  had  absorbed  a  good  deal  of  the  methods.  My  father's 
men  worked  rather  faster,  but  not  so  very  much.  There  is 
more  actually  accomplished  by  making  your  work  count, 
and  not  wasting  a  stroke,  than  in  merely  keeping  very 
busy.  Peter  was  a  better  workman  than  the  sailmaker,  and 
there  was  no  object  whatever  in  working  fast,  for  they 
had  plenty  of  time. 

The  boat  was  done,  as  good  as  new,  in  ten  days,  and 
then  painted,  and  lashed,  bottom  up,  on  top  of  the  after 
house.  One  result  of  Peter's  work  upon  this  boat  was  that 
thereafter  he  was  a  sort  of  unofficial  ship's  carpenter. 


CHAPTER  XX 

We  had  the  usual  variations  in  weather,  some  good,  some 
bad,  but  none  very  bad,  to  the  Carroll  grounds.  For  two 
thirds  of  the  way  the  wind  was  mostly  pretty  strong  from 
the  west  or  southwest,  giving  the  Clearchus  what  she  liked 
best;  for  the  last  third  of  the  way  it  drew  in  from  the 
southeast,  although  we  were  not  at  any  time  in  the  region 
of  the  steady  southeast  trades,  merely  touching  upon  the 
border  of  that  region  toward  the  very  last  of  the  run.  We 
ran  into  no  gales,  and  made  a  passage  of  about  five  weeks, 
arriving  on  the  Carroll  grounds  the  last  week  in  March. 
We  then  shortened  sail,  and  began  to  cruise.  It  was  the 
captain's  intention  to  quarter  the  ground  thoroughly  once, 
making  slowly  to  the  southeast,  which  was  the  windward 
side,  and  then  to  beat  up  for  the  Cape. 

For  a  week  we  beat  back  and  forth  in  fine  weather  with- 
out a  sign  of  a  whale.  I  had  almost  ceased  to  think  of 
them,  and  spent  my  spare  time  in  surreptitious  games 
with  Peter  or  with  the  group  of  men  who  were  usually 
gathered  about  him;  or  I  stood  by  the  windlass  or  sat  be- 
tween the  knightheads  —  anywhere  where  I  could  not  be 
spied  from  aft  —  and  looked  out  ahead  over  the  white- 
capped  seas,  feeling  the  brisk  wind  on  my  cheeks,  and 
listening  to  the  noise  of  the  water  under  the  bows,  and  to 
the  gentle  creaking  of  the  spars  and  rigging.  To  me  those 
are  inexpressibly  soothing  sounds ;  they  have  always  been 
so,  and  are  to  this  day.  The  noises  of  the  life  of  the  ship 
—  not  very  loud  at  their  worst,  in  such  a  case  —  are  far 
behind  you,  and  they  come  faintly  to  your  ears,  as  if  from 
another  world.  They  do  not  seem  real,  as  do  the  bubbling 
of  the  water  under  the  bow,  and  the  wash  of  it  as  it  passes 


194  SHE  BLOWS! 

astern,  and  the  faint  noise  of  breaking  seas,  and  the  soft 
sound  of  the  wind  on  the  sails. 

That  pleasant  mode  of  life  was  not  to  last  forever.  One 
afternoon  I  was  lying  on  my  back  on  the  heel  of  the  bow- 
sprit. I  had  just  finished  my  chores  after  dinner,  and  had 
lain  down  to  gaze  up  at  the  sails,  full  and  straining,  and 
at  the  sky  above  them.  My  gaze  travelled  up  the  foremast, 
past  the  topsails,  which  were  braced  well  around,  for 
we  were  sailing  with  the  wind  forward  of  the  beam. 
The  fore  truck  described  slow  ellipses  against  the  sky,  and 
I  was  fascinated  in  watching  them.  Now  and  then  I  caught 
a  glimpse,  past  the  bellying  topsail,  of  the  masthead  man. 
He  seemed  very  far  up.  He  was  leaning  wearily  against 
the  hoops,  as  if  he  might  have  been  asleep.  Suddenly  he 
straightened  alertly.  I  knew  what  to  expect  then,  and  I 
sat  up  as  the  cry  floated  down  to  me;  then  I  jumped  to  my 
feet,  and  ran  to  Mr.  Brown's  boat. 

There  were  two  spouts,  about  three  miles  to  leeward, 
and  the  whales  seemed  to  be  travelling  at  about  the  same 
rate  as  the  ship,  and  pretty  near  together.  The  spouts  rose 
as  regularly  as  the  exhaust  of  a  tugboat,  although  nowhere 
near  as  fast;  there  were  ten  or  twelve  seconds  between 
them.  The  ship  was  laid  around  on  a  course  nearly  parallel 
with  that  of  the  whales,  and  we  waited  to  see  if  they  would 
not  go  down  to  feed.  There  was  no  sign  of  their  doing  so, 
however,  and  after  waiting  over  twenty  minutes,  we 
lowered  three  boats.  Our  boat  —  that  means  Mr.  Brown's 
—  was  one  of  the  three.  I  took  my  place  in  it  without 
asking  leave,  but  as  Mr.  Brown  looked  right  at  me,  and 
made  no  objection,  and  as  the  Prince  even  smiled  at  me,  I 
thought  it  was  probably  what  was  expected. 
)  By  hard  pulling  we  got  right  in  the  course  of  the  whales, 
""Mr.  Baker  and  ourselves  taking  the  farther  one,  and  Mr. 
Macy  the  nearer.  Our  whale  was  a  little  in  advance  of  the 
other.  Then  we  waited,  our  oars  in  our  hands,  to  be  ready 
for  any  change  of  course  of  the  whales.  Approaching  a 


LOWERING  BOATS 


LOSING  A  WHALE  195 

whale  head  on  is  one  of  the  favorite  ways,  for  a  whale  can- 
not see  anything  directly  ahead  of  him,  strange  and  in- 
convenient as  that  may  seem.  The  whales  came  on  in  a  bus- 
iness-like way,  rising  to  spout,  then  pitching  under,  until 
they  were  perhaps  within  fifty  or  sixty  feet  of  the  boats. 
The  Prince  was  all  set  to  strike,  and  the  four  oarsmen 
gripping  their  oars  hard,  I,  at  least,  with  my  nerves  on 
edge.  Then  the  whales  brought  up  suddenly;  stopped  as 
completely  as  if  they  had  run  into  a  wall.  Something  had 
excited  their  suspicion,  although  the  men  in  the  boats  were 
as  still  as  death.  Our  whale  —  I  should  not  have  called 
him  ours  so  soon  —  raised  his  head  from  the  water,  as  if 
listening,  and  Mr.  Baker  and  Mr.  Brown  signalled  the 
men  to  pull  up.  It  was  only  a  little  way,  and  the  two  boats 
almost  leaped  from  the  water.  I  could  see  nothing  of  the 
whale,  pulling,  as  I  was,  with  my  back  to  him,  and  my  eyes 
glued  to  the  oar  of  the  man  in  front  of  me,  but  I  could 
imagine  that  whale  pricking  up  his  ears,  if  he  had  had 
any.  Mr.  Baker's  boat  was  just  abeam  of  us,  to  take  him 
on  his  other  side.  Out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye  I  saw  the 
men  in  her  laying  to  it,  and  the  spray  flying  from  her  bow. 
It  is  utterly  useless  to  dart  the  harpoon  at  the  front  of 
a  sperm  whale.  The  weapon  almost  always  bounds  back 
as  if  it  were  a  mass  of  rubber  it  had  struck  against.  We 
had  to  get  as  far  as  his  eye  before  a  chance  would  be  of- 
fered. I  saw  his  great  cliff-like  head  shoot  by.  Then,  as  we 
came  within  range  of  his  vision,  within  ten  feet  of  him,  he 
suddenly  sank  away  from  the  boat  and  out  of  sight  like 
a  lump  of  lead,  without  a  motion  of  his  fins,  or  his  flukes 
either,  so  far  as  I  could  judge  by  hearing.  The  Prince 
had  darted,  and  so  had  Starbuck  —  and  had  missed  by 
inches,  at  ten  feet.  It  was  comical  to  see  the  consternation 
and  amazement  of  Starbuck,  and  I  have  no  doubt  the 
Prince's  surprise  was  nearly  as  great,  although  he  would 
not  show  it  so  plainly.  I  did  hear  a  grunt  from  him,  how- 
ever, and  an  exclamation.  The  harpoons  had  clashed  under 


196  SHE  BLOWS! 

water.  When  they  were  hauled  in,  the  Prince  found  the 
shank  of  his  bent,  and  a  gouge,  fresh  and  bright,  deep  in 
the  shank  at  the  point  of  bending;  and  the  edge  of  Star- 
buck's  was  dulled  and  turned. 

Mr.  Macy's  boat,  with  George  Hall  the  boat-steerer, 
had  an  exactly  similar  experience.  Mr.  Macy  had  not 
headed  that  boat  long  enough  to  overcome  entirely  the 
effect  of  Wallet's  slackness  and  generally  slipshod  way  of 
doing  things,  and  his  crew  did  not  respond  quite  so  quickly 
or  so  well.  Consequently  his  whale  had  just  enough  warn- 
ing to  begin  to  move,  but  not  enough  time  to  get  under 
way,  or  to  find  out  definitely  what  was  up.  His  only  escape 
was  to  sink  from  the  head  of  the  boat  as  quickly  as  a 
marlinspike  that  has  been  dropped  overboard,  or  an 
anchor.  Hall,  however,  had  no  chance  to  dart,  and  he  had 
had  experience  enough  to  know  it.  We  did  not  see  those 
whales  again  except  at  a  distance  which  was  perfectly 
safe,  and  then  they  were  swimming  head  out,  making  ten 
or  twelve  knots. 

Later  in  the  day  I  came  upon  a  sort  of  a  consolation 
gathering.  Starbuck  and  the  Prince  and  George  Hall  were 
the  central  figures,  and  there  were  the  other  two  boat- 
steerers,  Azevedo  and  Miller,  and  all  the  green  hands 
standing  on  the  fringe  of  the  circle,  with  two  or  three 
older  men.  Starbuck  was  much  mortified  at  his  failure, 
and  offered  what  excuse  he  could.  The  Prince  may  have 
been  as  much  mortified  as  Starbuck,  but  he  offered  no 
excuse  and  said  little.  Hall  was  giving  comfort,  saying 
that  it  was  not  uncommon  for  whales  to  settle  in  that  way, 
and  escape,  when  they  had  no  time  to  round  out  flukes  and 
sound,  although  he  did  not  see  how  they  did  it.  No  har- 
pooner  was  to  be  blamed  for  missing  a  whale  under  those 
circumstances. 

Then  there  was  a  babel  of  voices,  each  man  who  had 
seen  it  happen  and  thought  about  it  at  all  —  a  man  could 
hardly  help  thinking  about  it  if  he  had  once  seen  it  — 


A  WHALE  AND  HIS  SLICK  197 

giving  his  own  theory  of  how  it  was  done.  They  seemed  to 
run  to  the  idea  of  interior  ballast  tanks.  Hall  smiled. 

"  It  does  not  seem  quite  quick  enough,"  he  said.  "  The 
whale  would  have  to  take  in  water  ballast  pretty  sudden 
to  sink  as  quick  as  he  does.  Besides,  water  won't  sink  in 
water.  If  he  could  take  in  lead  or  old  junk  into  his  tanks, 
it  would  be  different.  I  know  that  gannets  have  something 
like  that,  cells  under  the  skin  that  they  can  fill  or  empty 
of  air  through  their  lungs;  and  man-o'-war  birds  have 
something  of  the  kind,  I  believe,  and  so  have  other  birds. 
I  've  seen  'em  and  you  've  all  seen  'em.  They  seem  to 
contract  when  they  want  to  get  down  pretty  quick.  But  I 
don't  pretend  to  know  how  a  whale  does  it." 

There  was  more  talk  which  I  could  not  follow.  After 
a  while  Azevedo  asked  Hall  about  what  he  called  the 
"  slick  "  or  "  glip,"  and  how  he  thought  that  communica- 
tion was  kept  up.  I  did  not  know  what  they  were  talking 
about,  of  course.  Hall  shook  his  head,  and  said  he  had 
never  seen  any  evidence  of  communication,  although  he 
had  heard  of  it,  but  he  would  not  commit  himself  on  the 
subject,  and  he  asked  Peter.  Peter  said  that  he  did  not 
know  anything  about  it. 

"  What  is  that,  Peter  ?"  I  asked  in  an  undertone. 
"  What 's  glip  ?  "  I  knew  what  a  slick  was. 

"  I  don't  rightly  know,  Tim,"  he  answered.  "  Whales 
always  leave  a  slick  —  a  smooth  place,  oily-like  —  on  the 
water  when  they  round  out  and  sound  quietly.  It  must  be 
something  like  the  oil  bags  we  had  over  our  bows  in  that 
gale  off  Hatteras.  But  they  say  that  there  's  a  sort  of  a 
telegraph  between  the  whale  and  his  slick  —  as  far  as  I 
can  make  out,  that  there  's  a  way  the  whole  school  has 
of  knowing  if  a  boat  so  much  as  crosses  the  line  between 
a  whale  and  his  slick.  So,  if  a  boat  gets  into  the  slick,  or 
crosses  that  line,  the  whole  school  goes  tearing  to  wind- 
ward. It  may  be  so,"  he  added,  shaking  his  head.  "  I 
don't  say  it  ain't,  for  you  hear  of  many  curious  things  at 


198  SHE  BLOWS! 

sea  that  turn  out  to  be  true,  but  it  seems  a  trifle  too  much 
like  magic  to  me.  So  I  say  that  I  don't  know  anything 
about  it,  and  that 's  true  enough.  I  don't." 

I  laughed.  To  me  it  seemed  like  a  fairy  tale;  but,  as 
Peter  had  said,  you  hear  of  many  curious  things  at  sea 
which  turn  out  to  be  true,  and  this  might  be  one  of  them. 
If  it  is  true  I  can  think  of  no  possible  explanation.  I  do 
not  know  the  truth  of  the  matter  to  this  day. 

A  few  days  later  we  sighted  another  spout.  Mr.  Brown 
and  Mr.  Baker  lowered  for  him,  for  they  said  that  the 
Prince  and  Starbuck  ought  to  have  another  chance.  This 
was  a  lone  whale,  which  very  obligingly  waited  for  us  to 
come  up  with  him,  and  both  boats  got  fast.  He  put  up  no 
fight  at  all,  and  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  lay  fin  out.  This 
was  the  sort  of  thing  that  disgusted  me  with  whaling,  and 
made  it  seem  nothing  more  than  a  bloody,  dirty  business, 
which  tended  to  brutalize  the  men  who  took  part  in  it.  A 
whale  should  be  willing  —  determined  —  to  fight  for  his 
life,  if  it  was  worth  anything  to  him.  A  fight  made  it  all 
worth  while,  and  the  better  the  fight  the  more  worth  while 
it  seemed,  to  me,  at  any  rate.  The  prospect  of  a  good  fight 
always  did  fill  me  with  elation,  in  spite  of  myself.  I  con- 
fess that  it  does  even  now,  in  spite  of  my  age  and  experi- 
ence, which  has  been  acquired  uniformly  in  the  avoidance 
of  fights ;  but  any  kind  of  a  fight  seems  good  to  me,  in  my 
heart  of  hearts.  It  is  a  reprehensible  instinct,  but  it  is  just 
as  surely  an  instinct  as  it  is  reprehensible  according  to  our 
modern   code. 

This  whale  may  not  have  regarded  his  life  as  of  suf- 
ficient value  to  be  worth  fighting  for.  At  any  rate,  his 
actions  and  appearance  aroused  suspicions,  and  when  he 
was  cut-in  the  suspicions  were  apparently  confirmed,  for 
the  blubber  was  light  and  dry.  Accordingly,  instead  of  cut- 
ting the  carcass  adrift,  they  cut  into  it,  and  proceeded  to 
investigate  his  internal  economy  with  spades  and  knives.  I 
hung  over  the  rail  and  watched  the  operation  with  much 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  BATTLES    199 

interest.  It  reminded  me  of  the  occasion,  five  or  six  years 
before,  when  Jimmy  Appleby  and  I  had  dissected  two 
rats,  with  rather  dull  knives,  on  the  top  of  his  high  back 
fence.  We  got  thoroughly  smeared  with  blood  and  gurry, 
but  found  nothing  of  value,  and  did  not  add  to  our  infor- 
mation on  the  subject  of  rats.  The  whale  was  much  the 
same,  so  far  as  I  could  see.  The  men  got  very  thoroughly 
smeared,  but  they  found  nothing  of  value. 

While  we  were  in  the  midst  of  this  bloody  business, 
and  most  of  the  men  who  were  not  engaged  in  it  were 
hanging  over  the  rail,  as  J  was,  I  felt  a  tap  upon  my 
shoulder.  I  turned  and  saw  Peter,  who  took  me  to  the 
port   side. 

"  Look  there,  Timmie,"  he  said,  pointing. 

I  had  no  trouble  in  seeing  what  he  was  pointing  at.  It 
was  the  Annie  Battles,  only  three  or  four  miles  off,  and 
headed  directly  for  us.  There  was  a  brisk  breeze,  which 
she  had  just  forward  of  the  beam,  very  nearly  her  best 
point  of  sailing.  She  was  coming  fast,  and  was  a  pretty 
sight,  I  thought.  Peter  had  the  same  thought.  We  watched 
her  in  silence  for  some  minutes,  and  then  he  sighed  and 
shook  his  head. 

"  A  pretty  sight,"  he  said,  "  and  an  able  boat.  There  's 
aone  better,  and  it 's  a  pity." 

"A  pity  that  there's  none  better?"  I  asked. 

"  A  pity  that  it  should  mean  trouble  every  time  she 
heaves  in  sight.  I  don't  know  what  kind  of  mischief  she  's 
up  to  this  time,  but  look  at  our  officers,  lad.  They  don't 
know  either,  but  they  expect  trouble  of  some  kind.  Would 
n't  you  think  so  yourself?  " 

Captain  Nelson,  with  Mr.  Baker,  Mr.  Brown  and  Mr. 
Macy,  was  standing  just  forward  of  the  after  house,  his 
glass  at  his  eye.  None  of  the  four  were  saying  anything, 
but  all  were  gazing  soberly  at  the  Battles,  which  held  her 
course  as  if  she  meant  to  run  us  down.  The  captain  said 
something  in  a  low  tone  to  Mr.  Baker,  who  nodded  and 
started  leisurely  forward. 


200  SHE  BLOWS! 

"  I  wish,"  said  Peter,  "  that  she  'd  leave  us  alone,  and 
get  about  her  business.  It 's  over  two  months  since  we  've 
seen  her,  and  I  hoped  that  was  the  last.  But  she  seems  to 
be  keeping  tabs  on  us,  and  to  know  just  where  to  find  us. 
She  '11  keep  turning  up,  like  enough,  all  through  our 
voyage,  just  when  we  've  begun  to  forget  her.  I  'd  give 
something  to  know  what  tbey  're  up  to.  What  does  she 
want,  anyway?  What  is  she  doing  it  for?" 

It  is  very  likely,  even  in  the  light  of  our  later  knowledge 
of  the  Annie  Battles,  that  they  were  not  up  to  anything 
in  particular,  and  did  not  want  anything  except  to  plague 
us,  and  exasperate  us,  and  set  us  all  to  wondering  just  as 
they  were  doing.  At  sea,  on  a  long  voyage,  with  a  faster 
vessel,  and  the  certainty  of  being  able  to  sail  around  us  in 
any  weather,  that  exasperation  could  be  carried  to  a  high 
pitch.  We  had  no  means  of  knowing  what  was  going  on 
in  the  Battles ;  but,  all  this  granted,  I  could  not  guess  their 
motive.  It  was  possible  that  they  were  after  our  whales, 
but  Captain  Coffin  was  an  able  whaling  master,  and  if  that 
was  the  explanation  —  I  put  the  question  to  Peter. 

"  Oh,  no,  lad,"  he  replied  quickly.  "If  that  was  the 
reason,  they  *d  just  stay  with  us  —  dog  us  about.  They 
don't  do  that,  but  —  Aye,  aye,  sir." 

For  Mr.  Baker  had  come  up  to  us,  and  was  telling  Peter 
to  go  to  his  boat,  but  not  to  hurry.  They  did  not  want  any 
stir  on  the  decks.  Then  he  passed  on  to  tell  others  of  his 
crew  the  same  thing.  Mr.  Macy  was  strolling  about  the 
deck  on  a  similar  errand.  One  by  one  the  men  drifted  down 
to  their  boats,  cast  off  the  lashings,  and  stood  with  the 
falls  in  their  hands,  ready  to  lower.  The  Battles  was  still 
coming  on,  headed  directly  for  us.  She  was  a  mile  away, 
and  the  men  stood  like  statues  by  their  boats ;  the  distance 
diminished  to  a  half-mile  and  then  to  a  quarter.  There  was 
a  deep  silence  on  the  ship,  while  the  noise  of  the  surgeons 
at  the  operating-table  rose  to  us  over  the  starboard  rail. 
They  knew  nothing  of  the  Battles.   When   the   schoone* 


HARPOONING  THE  BATTLES        201 

was  a  cable's  length  away  she  was  still  heading  directly 
for  us,  and  seemed  likely  to  strike  us  amidships. 

It  was  too  much  for  Mr.  Baker.  "  Ahoy,  there  !  "  ho 
roared.  "  Damn  you,  do  you  want  to  run  us  down?" 

"  Are  you  there?"  cried  a  jeering  voice  from  the  Battles. 
"  Why  don't  you  lower?" 

As  the  sound  of  the  voice  reached  us,  however,  the 
Battles  kept  off  a  little,  so  that  she  would  just  clear  our 
stern.  Captain  Nelson  nodded,  and  Mr.  Macy  lowered  in- 
stantly, cast  off,  and  the  men  pulled  hard  to  intercept  her. 
They  did  not  quite  succeed  in  doing  that,  and  the  Battles 
swept  by  with  her  main  chains  about  six  inches  beyond 
the  utmost  reach  of  Hall's  boathook.  Hall  made  an  instant 
decision.  Throwing  down  the  boathook,  he  grabbed  a  har- 
poon, to  which  the  whale  line  was  already  bent,  and  darted 
with  all  his  force  at  the  chains  of  the  Battles.  The  har- 
poon stuck  in  the  hull  and  quivered  there  for  a  moment, 
between  the  chains ;  then,  as  strain  came  on  it,  it  pulled  out, 
having  nothing  to  hold  it,  the  barb  caught  on  the  chains, 
and  there  they  were  towing  as  comfortably  as  ever  they 
did  behind  a  whale. 

From  the  deck  of  the  Battles  there  came  a  roar  for  a 
sharp  spade,  while  Mr.  Macy  was  exhorting  his  men  to 
heave  and  heave  hearty.  There  were  only  a  few  feet  to 
gain,  for  the  whaleboat  was  almost  lapping  the  hull  of  the 
schooner.  What  they  would  have  done  when  they  had 
gained  a  place  under  her  quarter  I  could  not  imagine.  I 
wondered.  Mr.  Macy  might  have  been  in  the  same  pre- 
dicament, but  it  was  not  likely.  He  was  not  the  man  to  go 
ahead  without  plan,  and  he  was  working  as  if  for  a  definite 
end.  What  that  plan  was  we  were  not  to  know,  for  the 
spades  succeeded  in  severing  the  line  before  the  hulls 
lapped,  and  the  frayed  end  dropped  into  the  water.  It  was 
fortunate,  perhaps.  Whnt  chance  would  six  men  have  had 
against  twenty  or  more? 

In  the  brief  struggle  the  Battles  had  gone  on  farther 


202  SHE  BLOWS! 

than  she  meant  to,  and  was  now  some  distance  astern  of 
us;  but  as  soon  as  she  had  succeeded  in  dropping  Mr. 
Macy  she  stood  up  along  our  starboard  beam,  a  short 
distance  away.  Meanwhile,  Mr.  Baker's  boat  had  been 
lowered,  taking  the  captain,  and  had  pulled  out  a  few 
boat's  lengths,  and  lay  there,  waiting  for  the  Battles. 
The  men  who  had  been  working  on  the  carcass  of  the 
whale  had  stopped  work,  and  stood  watching  to  see  what 
would  happen. 

The  Battles  came  on  until  she  was  nearly  abeam  of  us, 
then  she  slacked  off  her  sheets,  spilling  the  wind  from 
her  sails.  Her  crew  seemed  interested  in  the  surgical  op- 
eration on  the  whale. 

"  Did  you  find  any?"  hailed  the  man  who  seemed  to  be 
in    command. 

Captain  Nelson  paid  no  attention  to  this  question,  but 
his  men  pulled  toward  the  schooner. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  the  man  demanded  sharply. 
"  Keep  off !  Stay  where  you  are,  and  let's  settle  it." 

"  I  'm  coming  aboard  of  you,"  Captain  Nelson  said. 
"  I  'm  coming  to  see  Cap'n  Coffin.  There  are  some  matters 
to  be  settled  between  us." 

The  Battles  was  shooting  ahead,  losing  way  slowly,  and 
the  men  in  the  captain's  boat  again  began  pulling. 

"  You  can't  see  Cap'n  Coffin,"  the  man  began  im- 
patiently. "  You  've  been  told  that  often  enough.  Damn 
it,"  he  added,  almost  changing  his  mind,  "if  I  should 
let  you  come  aboard  and  see  Cap'n  Coffin,  I  'd  warrant 
you  'd  have  all  the  time  you  wanted  to  settle  any  matters 
that  're  on  your  mind.  It  'd  serve  you  right,  and  if  the 
consequences  'd  be  all  on  your  own  head,  I  'd  do  it.  But 
they  would  n't  and  I  won't.  I  never  will.  Understand  ?  " 

We  heard  the  conversation  plainly,  and  I  was  curious 
to  know  what  he  meant  by  his  remark  about  consequences. 
It  did  not  seem  to  give  Captain  Nelson  any  concern.  He 
made  no  reply,  and  the  boat  continued  to  pull  toward  the 


MR.  WALLET  THUMBS  HIS  NOSE    203 

schooner.  Mr.  Macy  had  been  coming  up  quietly  while 
the  Battles  was  busy  with  Captain  Nelson,  and  he  was  not 
far  astern,  his  men  pulling  strongly  and  easily.  We  heard 
the  order  to  trim  in  the  sheets,  and  at  the  same  time 
several  men  took  their  places  at  the  side,  holding  spades 
in  their  hands.  It  was  their  old  trick.  The  captain's  boat 
was  only  a  few  strokes  off. 

"  Keep  off  !  "  was  the  warning. 

For  answer  Starbuck  grabbed  for  the  chains  with  the 
boathook.  A  spade  smashed  down  upon  it  and  knocked  it 
out  of  his  hand.  The  sheets  of  the  Battles  had  been 
trimmed  in,  she  heeled  to  the  breeze,  began  to  gather 
speed,  and  was  slowly  passing  the  bow  of  the  boat.  Star- 
buck  leaped,  landed  on  her  wales,  and  had  one  leg  over 
the  rail  before  the  men  on  the  Battles  knew  what  he  was 
after.  Before  he  could  get  the  other  leg  over,  three  men 
seized  him;  I  saw  them  struggle  with  him  for  an  instant, 
break  his  hold  on  the  rail,  and  throw  him  into  the  sea. 

The  Battles  was  now  well  under  way,  the  boat  was  fast 
dropping  astern,  and  Starbuck  was  in  the  water.  Mr. 
Macy  was  not  quite  up,  and  it  was  a  hopeless  chase  from 
the  start,  but  both  boats  tried  to  make  a  race  of  it  for  a 
quarter  of  a  mile.  When  they  gave  it  up,  and  stopped 
rowing,  I  saw  Wallet  come  out  from  behind  the  quarter 
boat,  where  he  had  been  standing,  hidden  from  us,  and 
take  his  place  at  the  topsail.  It  was  too  far  to  see  clearly 
without  a  glass  what  he  was  doing  there,  but  he  seemed 
to  put  his  thumb  to  his  nose  at  Mr.  Baker  and  the  cap- 
tain. That  was  too  much  for  me,  and  I  laughed  until  I 
nearly  had  hysterics,  it  was  so  like  him. 

The  boats  lay  there  for  some  time,  the  men  all  watch- 
ing the  Battles  fast  disappearing  in  the  distance.  Then 
they  pulled  slowly  back  to  the  ship.  Starbuck  had  swum 
to  the  ship,  and  stood  dripping  beside  me,  watching  the 
Battles  with  sober  eyes.  When  I  laughed  so  immoder- 
ately, he  turned  his  eyes  upon  me  with  disapproval,  but  he 


204  SHE  BLOWS! 

took  the  contagion,  and,  much  against  his  will,  he  was 
forced  to  smile. 

"  But  it 's  no  laughing  matter,  Tim,"  he  said.  "  I  'd  like 
to  know  what 's  wrong  on  that  vessel.  There  's  something 
wrong.  I  know  Fred  Coffin  well.  We  live  only  a  few  doors 
apart  —  only  two  houses  between  us,  and  we  were  at  school 
together.  He  is  n't  so  much  older  than  me ;  three  years, 
about.  I  hope  nothing  's  happened  to  him." 

"  Why,"  I  said,  "  what  could  happen  to  him  —  on  his 
own  vessel  ?  " 

"  Anything,"  Starbuck  answered.  "  Anything  at  all. 
Ever  hear  the  story  of  the  ship  Junior  and  Cap'n  Arch 
Mellen?  It  happened  in  fifty-eight,  or  fifty-seven,  but  it's 
all  true,  and  it  might  happen  now  —  any  time,  unless 
men's  hearts  are  changed." 

"  Tell  me,"  I  said  eagerly.  "  I  never  heard  of  it;  I 
never  even  heard  of  the  ship  Junior." 

He  smiled  down  at  me ;  after  all,  not  so  much  down,  for 
I  was  nearly  as  tall  as  he. 

"  There  's  a  good  many  ships  you  never  heard  of,  I 
guess.  I  '11  tell  you  the  story  of  the  ship  Junior,  the  first 
chance  I  get.  The  boats  are  coming  back  now,  and  I  want 
to  get  into  dry  clothes." 

By  the  time  the  boats  were  on  the  davits  the  Battles 
was  more  than  hull  down  to  the  southward,  and  was  fast 
•inking  her  topsails. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

We  cleared  up  our  whale  as  soon  as  we  could.  He  made 
only  thirty-three  barrels,  and  we  laid  our  course  for  the 
Cape  with  a  total  of  three  hundred  and  thirty-five  barrels 
of  oil  in  the  hold.  That  seemed  very  little  to  show  for  nine 
months'  work,  but  Peter  comforted  me  somewhat.  He  did 
not  seem  to  mind.  It  was  all  in  the  day's  work  to  him. 

"  I  know,  Timmie,  lad,"  he  said.  "  Whales  have  got 
scarce  as  hen's  teeth  in  the  Atlantic  Ocean.  But  the  whal- 
ing fleet 's  not  what  it  was  fifteen  years  ago  when  there 
were  over  three  hundred  vessels  hailing  from  New  Bed- 
ford. Give  the  whales  thirty  years  or  so,  and  they  '11  be 
back  there.  We  '11  find  plenty  on  the  New  Zealand  grounds 
or  off  Japan,  or  some  other  nice  quiet  place.  We'll  have 
a  full  ship  yet,  but  it  may  take  us  three  years  more." 

The  fact  that  we  had  little  oil  to  show  did  not  bother 
me  very  much.  I  would  have  kept  on  with  a  contented 
spirit  if  we  had  not  had  any  oil.  It  was  not  for  a  few  bar- 
rels of  oil  that  I  had  embarked  on  this  cruise. 

We  followed  the  course  of  the  Battles,  not  because  it 
was  her  course,  but  because  it  was  the  quickest  way  to  get 
to  the  Cape.  The  wind  held  for  some  days  in  the  south- 
east, so  that  we  headed  a  little  west  of  south;  then  it 
hauled  to  the  westward,  and  into  the  northwest,  blowing 
hard.  That  was  just  what  we  wanted,  and  we  laid  our 
course  straight  for  Cape  Town.  The  northwest  wind  did 
not  stay  with  us  long,  but  we  had  made  enough  southing  to 
be  able  to  hold  our  course  when  the  wind  changed  to  the 
southeast  again,  which  it  did  very  soon.  There  are  few 
gales  in  this  part  of  the  ocean  at  this  season,  and  we  were 
lucky  enough  not  to  get  any;  but  for  two  days  we  drifted 
about  in  calms  and  light,  variable  airs,  and  there  was  a 


206  SHE  BLOWS! 

current  or  ocean  drift  to  the  northward,  which  set  us  hack 
about  a  mile  an  hour  while  we  held  our  southerly  course. 

Starbuck  told  us  the  story  of  the  ship  Junior  while  we 
were  on  that  southerly  course.  Our  crew  was  much  im- 
pressed by  the  story,  old  as  it  was.  Some  of  them  —  most 
of  the  white  men  in  the  crew  —  had  heard  it  before,  but 
many  had  not.  One  by  one  they  drifted  into  the  circle 
about  Starbuck,  drawn  by  the  lure  of  a  yarn  being  spun. 
They  did  not  interrupt  him,  and  their  faces  were  serious 
as  they  listened.  Peter  was  one  of  those  who  had  not  heard 
the  story. 

"  Mutiny  never  pays,"  he  said  when  Starbuck  had 
finished,  "  does  it,  mates  ?  " 

There  were  some  muttered  objections. 

"  No,"  said  Peter  again.  "  It  never  pays.  If  a  mutiny 
is  successful  it  only  means  that  the  men  never  dare  show 
themselves  in  civilized  parts  again.  If  it  is  unsuccessful  — 
well,  who  wants  to  die  in  prison  ?  And,  for  my  part,  I  'd 
rather  be  shot  than  hanged.  'T  would  be  interesting,  now, 
to  know  what  became  of  the  men  who  were  n't  taken. 
They  may  have  made  some  island  in  the  South  Seas,  and 
have  lived  in  some  bodily  comfort  for  two  or  three  years. 
But  't  is  much  more  likely  that  they  found  themselves  on 
the  beach  at  one  port  after  another,  and  could  n't  ship  in 
anything,  even  if  they  got  the  chance,  without  fear  in  their 
hearts.  Probably  they  died  in  jail,  after  all,  or  had  their 
throats  cut  by  Chinese  or  Malay  pirates.  You  don't  hap- 
pen to  know,  Starbuck  ?  " 

Starbuck  shook  his  head. 

"  If  a  man  is  unlucky  enough  to  find  himself  in  a  ship 
where  there 's  hard  usage,"  Peter  went  on,  "  the  best 
thing  he  can  do  is  to  put  up  with  it  until  he  gets  ashore 
again.  Then  he  can  make  a  call  on  the  American  consul. 
Even  life  in  a  South  Sea  island  gets  tedious  after  a  while. 
A  sailorman  gets  tired  of  lying  on  a  mat  and  having  his 
breadfruit  and  yams  and  chickens  and  coconuts  brought 


PETER'S  YARN  207 

to  him.  If  he  's  got  the  spirit  of  the  sailor  he  can't  stand 
that  very  long,  even  if  they  don't  make  their  kings  cut 
their  throats  in  public  every  twelve  years,  which  used  to 
be  the  vile  custom  in  Malabar.  There  was  a  shipmate  of 
mine,  thirty  years  back,  that  deserted  somewhere  in  the 
South  Seas,  and  got  to  one  o'  these  islands,  and  got  to  be 
king  of  it.  He  was  glad  to  get  away  after  two  years  of  it 
—  had  to  sneak  out." 

There  was  clamor  for  the  yarn.  Just  as  Peter  had 
cleared  his  throat,  and  was  about  to  begin  it,  his  watch 
was  called. 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir,"  he  said.  Then  he  turned  to  the  others 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye.  "  You  see.  Hard  usage,  I  call 
it,  to  give  a  man  no  chance  to  spin  a  good  yarn.  Down- 
right oppression,  that 's  what  it  is." 

I  never  heard  that  yarn  of  Peter'*. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

The  day  before  we  got  into  Cape  Town  I  wrote  a  short 
letter  home,  and  enclosed  my  journal.  We  came  to  in 
Table  Bay  the  next  morning,  with  the  mass  of  Table 
Mountain  looming  to  the  eastward,  and  Devil's  Peak  and 
the  Lion's  Head  and  Signal  Hill  enclosing  the  town.  The 
crew  had  liberty  ashore,  in  relays,  and  the  first  boatload  of 
liberty  men  were  off  within  an  hour.  I  do  not  know  how 
the  men  spent  their  precious  liberty. 

We  laid  in  a  stock  of  fresh  provisions,  and  got  off  our 
mail,  and  found  some  mail  for  the  ship,  but  there  was 
nothing  for  me.  The  captain  attended  to  some  other  bus- 
iness, but  I  do  not  know  what.  He  did  not  ship  a  man  to 
take  the  vacant  place,  and  we  had  two  vacant  places 
when  we  left  in  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day,  for  a 
green  hand,  a  Portuguese  named  Silvia  from  Mr.  Macy's 
boat,  turned  up  missing.  Mr.  Tilton  made  a  brief  search 
for  him,  but  did  not  find  him,  and  we  could  not  wait. 
Most  of  the  other  men  were  rounded  up  drunk,  or  just 
recovering  from  that  happy  state,  and  really  not  respon- 
sible. 

Mr.  Snow,  our  fourth  mate  since  the  promotions  after 
Mr.  Wallet's  defection,  a  nervous,  irascible  little  man,  be- 
came very  much  enraged  at  one  of  the  men  from  his  own 
boat.  The  man's  name  was  Silver  —  perhaps  unfortu- 
nately resembling  Silvia,  the  name  of  the  man  who  was 
missing.  He  was  a  green  hand  too,  if  a  man  is  still  green 
after  eight  months  at  sea.  Mr.  Snow  addressed  a  sarcastic 
remark  to  Silver  —  or  Silva  —  bearing  upon  that  resem- 
blance of  names,  and  Silver,  as  might  have  been  expected, 
answered  him  in  a  surly  manner,  calling  him  a  fussy  little 
busybody,  or  less  agreeable  words  to  the  same  effect.  Of 


THE  MOZAMBIQUE  CHANNEL       209 

course  it  was  no  fault  of  Silver's  that  his  name  was  like 
Silvia's,  or  that  Silvia  was  not  to  be  found,  but  he  would 
not  have  answered  Mr.  Snow  as  he  did  if  he  had  been 
feeling  like  himself,  or  if  he  had  been  to  sea  long  enough 
to  know  the  unwisdom  of  it. 

Mr.  Snow  hesitated  and  sputtered  and  got  red  in  the 
face,  but  said  nothing  after  all,  and  fumed  off  aft.  The 
rest  of  the  men  rather  expected  that  Silver  might  be  put 
in  irons,  but  nothing  came  of  the  matter  then,  except  that 
Silver  had  the  permanent  ill-will  of  his  boatheader.  That 
is  not  a  state  of  affairs  generally  cultivated. 

We  stood  around  the  Cape,  keeping  well  out  to  sea  to 
avoid  the  current  which  sets  to  the  southwest  and  west 
along  the  shore  of  the  African  continent  and  for  about  a 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  it,  more  or  less.  The  surface 
currents  all  through  the  Indian  Ocean  are  strong  and 
tricky.  Off  Durban  or  Port  Natal  the  current  runs  south- 
westerly at  very  nearly  three  or  four  knots  at  this  season, 
and  it  was  worth  while  not  to  get  into  it,  especially  for  a 
ship  like  the  Clearchus,  which  could  not  be  depended  upon 
to  sail  faster  than  five  or  six  knots.  By  keeping  a  couple 
of  hundred  miles  to  the  southward  we  got  into  the  easterly 
drift  and  the  west  wind,  and  we  held  that  course  to  about 
S5°  east  longitude,  gradually  turning  to  the  north  for  the 
Mozambique  Channel. 

The  mastheads  were  kept  manned  all  this  time,  but  it 
was  hardly  expected  that  we  would  sight  any  whales,  and 
I  suspect  that  there  was  little  desire  to  see  any.  The  wind 
held  generally  strong  from  the  westward  until  we  were 
on  our  way  north.  We  sighted  the  southwest  coast  of  Mad- 
agascar, but  it  got  no  nearer  than  a  low-lying  purple  line, 
and  we  swung  away  to  the  northwest  until  we  sunk  it. 

Madagascar  is  nearly  a  thousand  miles  long,  and  from 
three  to  five  hundred  miles  from  the  coast  of  Africa,  the 
narrowest  part  of  the  Mozambique  Channel,  opposite  Mo- 
zambique, being  about  two  hundred  and  sixty  miles  broad. 


210  SHE  BLOWS! 

We  were  therefore  well  out  of  sight  of  land  almost  all 
the  time  that  we  cruised  in  those  waters.  Although  the 
wind  was  southerly  —  the  southeast  trades  —  and  by  all 
the  I  rules  we  should  have  run  directly  through  the  Chan- 
nel and  beat  slowly  back  again,  we  did  not  do  so,  but 
steered  a  zigzag  course,  wearing  ship  as  we  approached 
either  side  of  the  Channel.  The  captain  was  so  certain  of 
seeing  whales  there  that  he  did  not  want  to  miss  the  first 
chance,  and  that  chance  was  as  likely  to  come  one  way  as 
another. 

The  chance  came  when  we  had  been  in  the  Channel  four 
days  and  were  on  the  second  leg  of  our  zigzag.  I  was 
busy  in  the  cabin,  but  I  heard  the  faint  musical  cry,  "  Ah 
—  bl-o-ows !  "  I  dropped  everything,  and  ran  on  deck. 
It  was  early,  breakfast  being  just  over.  There  they  were 
to  the  east  of  us,  three  beautiful  plumes  rising  to- 
gether, shining  in  the  sun,  drifting  for  a  moment,  and  dis- 
solving gradually  into  nothing.  We  manoeuvred  for  po- 
sition —  if  it  is  proper  to  speak  of  anything  as  clumsy  as 
the  Clearchus  as  manoeuvring  —  and  waited  for  the 
whales  to  sound.  They  took  their  time  about  it,  at  which 
I  did  not  wonder.  It  was  very  pleasant  at  the  surface  in 
the  sun,  and  they  lay  lazily  at  their  length,  spouting  now 
and  then.  We  got  to  windward  of  them,  and  as  near  as 
the  captain  thought  was  safe  —  a  gallied  whale  is  hard  to 
get.  Still  they  did  not  go  down,  and  we  lowered  four  boats ; 
all  but  Mr.  Macy's.  The  boats  were  put  into  the  water 
carefully,  so  as  not  to  make  a  splash  that  the  whales 
would  hear,  they  cast  off  in  silence,  and  the  men  took  to 
their  paddles.  I  counted  as  a  man,  for  I  was  at  what  was 
getting  to  be  my  usual  place  in  Mr.  Brown's  boat. 

We  were  next  to  Mr.  Snow  in  the  circle  in  which  the 
boats  were  spreading,  and  a  little  ahead  of  him.  I  did  not 
look  at  Mr.  Snow,  for  my  eyes  were  otherwise  occupied. 
I  was  aware  of  him,  however,  and  knew  that  he  was  al- 
ternately looking  briefly  at  the  whales  and  glaring  mal- 


SNOW  AND  SILVER  211 

evolently  at  the  back  of  Silver,  who  rowed  tub  oar.  Silver, 
although  he  wielded  his  paddle  industriously,  was  aware 
of  it  too,  and  it  made  him  nervous,  so  that  he  became  awk- 
ward. Mr.  Snow  had  put  in  his  time  since  leaving  Cape 
Town  largely  in  gazing  malevolently  at  Silver.  He  was  a 
little  thunder-cloud,  threatening  always,  but  doing  no 
damage,  except  to  haze  Silver  —  haze  meaning  to  punish 
by  hard  work,  unnecessary  usually,  and  as  hard  as  possible 
—  whenever  he  had  the  chance.  This  attitude  had  resulted 
in  his  becoming  overbearing  to  the  rest  of  his  crew,  and 
he  was  fast  getting  to  be  the  most  unpopular  officer  on  the 
ship.  Silver  was  not  a  little  frightened,  for  he  did  not 
know  what  he  might  have  said  or  done  to  Mr.  Snow.  He 
had  been  in  a  condition  of  irresponsibility  at  the  time,  and 
he  could  not  remember.  I  had  overheard  him  asking  one 
man  after  another  what  it  was,  but  they  were  in  no  better 
case  for  remembering,  and  could  give  him  no  comfort. 

Silver  now  became  so  awkward  with  his  paddle  that  he 
missed  the  water  altogether  —  caught  a  crab  —  and  fell 
forward  on  his  knees,  striking  the  oars  and  making  a  tre- 
mendous rattling  and  rumbling.  We  were  not  far  from 
the  whales,  and  no  respectable  whale  could  avoid  hearing 
that  noise  of  wood  on  wood,  like  beating  a  great  tom-tom. 
They  cocked  up  their  ears  for  an  instant,  but  the  oars  were 
still  rolling  about,  Silver  frantically  grabbing  at  them, 
and  the  whales  simultaneously  raised  their  flukes  high, 
and  went  down.  Mr.  Baker,  on  the  other  side  of  Mr.  Snow, 
launched  a  string  of  curses  at  Mr.  Snow's  boat  for  his 
carelessness,  for  he  had  been  on  the  point  of  signalling 
Starbuck  to  stand  up,  he  was  so  near  his  whale.  Mr.  Snow, 
in  turn,  cursed  Silver  up  and  down.  It  was  rather  start- 
ling to  hear  such  a  flow  of  language  from  such  a  man. 
Mr.  Snow,  just  to  see  him  in  his  usual  state,  made  you 
think  of  a  Sunday-School  teacher. 

Mr.  Brown  looked  up  wearily.  I  knew  him  well  enough 
to  be  sure  that  he  was  thinking  that  cursing  would  not 


212  SHE  BLOWS! 

get  them  anywhere.  Mr.  Snow  appeared  to  be  of  the  same 
opinion,  for  he  stopped  his  cursing  abruptly.  We  lay  on 
our  oars,  which  we  had  taken  as  soon  as  Silver  caught  his 
crab,  and  waited  for  the  whales. 

We  were  near  the  middle  of  the  arc,  which  was  not  very 
wide,  not  above  an  eighth  of  a  mile  for  the  four  boats,  for 
the  whales  had  been  bunched.  We  lay  still,  but  the  outer 
boats  pulled  hard  to  make  the  arc  wider.  In  about  twenty 
minutes  the  whales  came  up,  just  beyond  the  outermost 
boat  to  the  westward.  That  happened  to  be  Mr.  Tilton's. 
Then  came  our  own,  then  Mr.  Snow's,  and  Mr.  Baker  on 
the  eastward  end.  Mr.  Tilton  was  an  experienced  whale- 
man, and  he  felt  sure  enough  that  we  should  not  get  any 
of  those  whales,  for  he  saw  that  they  were  gallied  just 
enough  to  be  very  wary,  and  not  to  lose  track  of  the  boats 
for  a  second.  There  was  a  chance,  however,  and  he  took 
it,  as  he  was  in  duty  bound  to  do.  He  could  not  get  near 
enough  to  dart,  and  the  whales  went  under  again,  not 
deep,  but  swimming  under  water.  They  came  up  at  the 
opposite  end  of  the  line,  and  Mr.  Baker  thought  that  he 
had  a  chance,  but  he  did  not  have  any  better  success  than 
Mr.  Tilton.  Then  the  whales  rose  again  between  us  and 
Mr.  Snow.  We  pulled  hard  for  them,  but  they  easily  got 
through  to  windward,  lay  there  and  waited  for  us. 

Those  three  whales  seemed  to  enjoy  the  sport.  They 
had  us  where  they  wanted  us,  to  leeward  of  them,  and 
they  gave  us  the  hardest  kind  of  work  for  four  hours.  We 
were  in  the  region  of  the  southeast  trades,  which  drew  in 
from  the  southward,  and  there  was  a  combing  sea,  hard 
to  pull  against.  We  all  knew  that  the  whales  had  all  the 
best  of  it,  but  they  would  bring  to  just  out  of  reach,  tan- 
talizing us,  egging  us  on  with  the  thought  that  this  time 
we  had  them ;  but  before  any  boat  had  got  near  enough  to 
dart,  they  would  up  flukes  or  settle  out  of  reach,  only  to 
come  up  again  just  near  enough  to  tempt  us  afresh.  I 
have  no  doubt  it  was  fun  for  the  whales,  but  it  was  na 


A  GAME  OF  TAG  218 

fun  for  the  men.  My  muscles  and  my  hands  were  sore  and 
aching  when  we  were  signalled  from  the  ship  to  give  it  up 
and  come  aboard.  Mr.  Baker  did  not  want  to  give  it  up 
even  then.  He  was  fighting  mad  —  it  did  not  take  very 
much  to  make  Mr.  Baker  fighting  mad,  and  the  thought 
that  three  common,  ordinary  whales  could  have  fun  with 
him  was  almost  too  much.  I  think  that  he  would  have 
liked  to  make  mince-meat  of  them.  Fortunately,  the  ship 
was  well  to  leeward,  and  we  sailed  back.  Those  three 
whales  followed  us  back  almost  to  the  ship.  They  seemed 
to  feel  hurt  because  we  would  not  play  any  longer.  I  had, 
and  I  still  have,  a  great  admiration  for  those  whales. 
There  was  no  malice  in  them,  and  they  had  only  been  in- 
dulging in  a  game  of  tag.  I  was  glad  to  think  that  we  had 
left  them  unhurt  in  their  element,  instead  of  drifting  car- 
casses to  be  stripped  bare  by  birds  and  sharks. 

We  saw  several  whales  on  our  way  up  the  Channel,  but 
they  were  wild,  and  we  got  none  of  them.  We  did  not 
even  get  fast,  but  had  a  good  many  hours  of  heartbreaking 
pulling.  Opposite  Mozambique,  about  a  hundred  miles 
offshore,  more  or  less,  the  Prince  got  an  iron  into  one, 
but  it  drew,  and  the  whale  got  away.  I  overheard  Captain 
Nelson  talking  to  Mr.  Baker,  one  day,  about  the  wildness 
of  the  whales.  He  seemed  to  think  it  evidence  that  they 
had  been  chased  a  good  deal,  and  to  be  inclined  to  abandon 
the  Channel  at  once,  and  keep  right  on  to  the  northward 
to  the  Seychelles.  Mr.  Baker  did  not  combat  the  captain's 
opinion  openly,  but  he  was  so  obviously  disappointed  and 
so  confident  that  we  should  do  better  on  the  return  trip 
through  the  Channel  that  the  captain  did  not  insist  upon 
it.  We  had  seen  no  whalers. 

I  had  been  having  my  lessons  —  my  hours  with  Mr. 
Brown  —  pretty  regularly,  right  along.  When  we  had  to 
chase,  or  had  a  whale  alongside,  of  course  we  had  to  give 
it  up,  but  we  had  not  been  interrupted  by  cutting-in  and 
trying-out  for  about  two  months.  I  had  added  the  study 


214  SHE  BLOWS! 

of  geography  to  the  curriculum.  I  wanted  to  know  more 
about  the  regions  which  we  visited,  and  although  there 
was  usually  nothing  to  be  seen  but  a  vast  expanse  of 
ocean,  I  knew  that  there  was  some  land  near,  and  the 
fact  was  a  stimulus  to  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  about 
it,  whatever  it  was.  There  was  not  a  geography  on  the 
ship,  but  it  was  no  loss  worth  mentioning.  I  got  what  I 
could  from  the  maps  and  charts  we  had,  and  Mr.  Brown 
supplied  the  rest,  for  he  highly  approved  the  broadening 
of  the  curriculum,  although  it  gave  him  more  work.  Al- 
ready I  could  almost  put  my  finger  on  some  islands  which 
I  had  never  heard  of  at  school,  and  Mauritius  and  Re- 
union were  as  definite  as  Nashawena  and  Cuttyhunk.  I 
had  seen  Bazaruta  from  a  distance,  although  my  geogra- 
phy authority  at  school  —  a  gentle,  modest  girl,  who 
probably  had  very  little  more  definite  ideas  on  the  sub- 
j  ect  than  I  had  —  had  never  heard  of  such  an  island. 
Almost  every  whaling  captain  knew  it  pretty  well,  for  it 
was  a  place  to  get  wood.  It  was  a  different  thing  actually 
to  see  the  low-lying  coast  of  Africa,  south  of  Mozam- 
bique, or  the  bold  shores  north  of  it,  with  a  glimpse  of 
the  high  table-land  behind,  from  what  it  was  to  read 
vaguely  about  them  all,  quietly  seated  at  my  desk  in 
North  Street.  I  knew  the  general  shape  of  Madagascar, 
and  thought  of  it  as  a  good  enough  island  of  moderate  size, 
with  the  Mozambique  Channel  perhaps  thirty  miles  wide. 
It  came  to  me  with  somewhat  of  a  shock  to  find  that  the 
Channel  was  five  times  as  wide  as  from  New  Bedford  to 
Nantucket,  and  that  Madagascar  was  about  as  long  as 
from  New  Bedford  to  Chicago.  Chicago  was  less  impor- 
tant in  1872  than  it  is  now,  and  it  was  less  than  a  year 
since  Mrs.  Kelly's  cow  had  kicked  over  the  lamp,  the  bea- 
con that  led  to  greatness. 

On  our  beat  south  through  the  Channel,  we  had  better 
luck.  We  had  many  unsuccessful  chases,  but  we  got  three 
whales  ranging  from  sixty  to  seventy  barrels  each.  There 


AN  UGLY  WHALE  215 

was  no  excitement  in  it;  about  as  much  as  there  would 
have  been  in  slaughtering  three  mild-eyed  cows.  That 
was  just  what  it  was,  simple  slaughter.  But  we  had  our 
excitement  before  we  got  out  of  the  Channel. 

It  was  as  we  were  getting  to  the  southern  mouth  of  the 
Channel.  I  remember  that  we  were  not  far  from  Baza- 
ruta  Island,  for  Peter  had  just  been  pointing  out  to  me 
the  place  where  it  was.  He  said  that  he  could  see  it,  but 
I  could  not.  He  looked  away  for  a  moment,  and  was  giv- 
ing me  some  further  information,  when  he  saw  the  spout. 
At  the  instant  the  cry  came  down  from  the  masthead.  It 
was  a  lone  spout,  the  spout  of  a  lone  whale,  so  far  as  we 
could  see. 

We  lowered  two  boats  for  him,  Mr.  Brown's  and  Mr. 
Macy's.  Largely  by  good  luck  Mr.  Macy  got  to  the  whale 
first,  and  Hall  sunk  his  two  irons  in  him.  It  was  a  good 
strike,  and  the  irons  were  sunk  to  the  hafts.  The  whale 
showed  ugly  right  away.  He  went  down  a  little,  and  ran 
under  water,  taking  out  nearly  two  tubs  of  line.  They  had 
just  managed  to  snub  the  line  somewhat,  and  were  begin- 
ning their  ride  after  him,  with  the  line  still  smoking 
around  the  loggerhead,  when  suddenly  he  stopped,  turned 
quickly,  and  came  back  at  them.  He  came  at  full  speed, 
head  out,  his  jaw  hanging  down  at  nearly  a  right  angle, 
meaning  mischief  with  it.  Mr.  Macy  saw  it,  of  course,  and 
so  did  Hall.  Hall  tried  to  lay  the  boat  around  with  the 
steering  oar,  out  of  the  course  of  the  whale,  but  the  great 
length  of  line  hanging  over  the  bow  was  almost  like  an 
anchor.  The  men  were  heaving  it  in  as  fast  as  they  could. 
Macy  ordered  them  to  their  oars,  and  with  oars  and  steer- 
ing oar  together  Hall  just  managed  to  get  them  partly 
out  of  the  way  of  the  whale.  He  turned  half  over,  and 
struck  the  boat  a  glancing  blow  with  his  jaw,  however, 
stove  a  couple  of  planks,  and  rolled  her  over.  We  saw  her 
rise  —  she  did  not  really  leave  the  water  —  and  come 
down  bottom  side  up.  While  she  was  coming  down  we 
heard  the  crash  of  the  splintering  planks. 


216  SHE  BLOWS! 

Most  of  the  men  had  jumped  out  just  before  the  whale 
struck  them,  and  one  or  two  had  been  thrown  out,  but  we 
could  not  be  sure,  from  where  we  were,  whether  all  were 
accounted  for  or  not.  We  pulled  hard  for  them,  and  when 
we  had  come  up  Mr.  Brown  counted  heads. 

"  Where  's  Macy  ?  "  he  asked  sharply. 

Before  anybody  could  answer  Mr.  Macy's  head  popped 
up,  beside  the  overturned  boat.  The  boat  had  come  down 
over  him,  and  he  had  dived  out.  The  men  were  grabbing 
oars  and  pieces  of  plank  —  anything  that  would  keep  them 
afloat  ■ —  and  were  swimming  away  from  the  wreck  as  fast 
as  they  could.  Mr.  Brown  saw  that  they  all  had  some- 
thing to  hang  on  to,  and  that  another  boat  had  been  low- 
ered from  the  ship,  and  was  coming  up  fast. 

"  You  're  all  right,"  he  said.  "  Hold  on,  and  I  '11  try  to 
coax  him  away." 

Macy  laughed.  **  You  're  welcome  to  it,"  he  said. 

The  whale  had  been  lying  a  short  distance  away, 
thrashing  his  flukes  about  truculently,  and  moving  from 
side  to  side.  In  the  course  of  his  movements  he  caught 
sight  of  the  wrecked  boat,  and  it  seemed  to  excite  his  rage 
afresh.  He  at  once  came  down  for  it,  his  jaw  down,  and 
struck  at  it  with  his  jaw;  but  he  did  but  little  damage, 
only  smashing  another  plank,  as  the  boat  rolled  away. 
The  men  were  swimming  away  as  fast  as  they  could.  The 
whale  came  to  a  short  distance  from  the  wreck,  turned, 
and  again  came  down  viciously. 

He  had  not  seen  our  boat,  although  it  was  in  plain 
sight;  at  any  rate,  he  had  taken  no  notice  of  it.  Perhaps 
his  mind  was  so  occupied  with  the  immediate  object  of 
his  wrath  that  it  had  no  room  for  anything  else.  Before 
he  reached  the  wrecked  boat,  we  struck,  the  Prince  dart- 
ing both  irons,  one  after  the  other,  with  great  rapidity,  and 
with  all  his  strength.  They  almost  disappeared  in  his 
body,  just  behind  his  side  fin.  This  distracted  his  atten- 
tion from  the  wreck  completely.  He  was  clearly  aston- 


AN  UGLY  WHALE  217 

ished,  and  striking  the  water  two  tremendous  blows  with 
his  flukes,  and  drenching  everybody  in  the  boat,  he  put 
away  to  windward  at  a  great  pace. 

He  went  so  fast,  and  made  so  much  play  with  his 
flukes,  that  we  could  not  haul  alongside.  He  seemed  to  be 
rolling  a  little  as  he  swam,  and  the  play  of  the  flukes  cov- 
ered the  course  the  boat  would  have  to  take.  There  was 
nothing  to  do  but  the  best  we  could.  We  hauled  up  with 
great  difficulty  just  astern  of  the  great  flukes,  and  Mr. 
Brown  tried  pitch-poling  the  boat  spade  into  his  small,  to 
cut  the  fluke  tendons.  This  was  a  difficult  matter,  in  a 
rolling,  jumping  boat,  and  in  three  trials  Mr.  Brown  suc- 
ceeded only  in  wounding  the  flukes,  which  served  to  in- 
crease the  speed.  We  simply  had  to  haul  up  close,  and  we 
did  it  somehow,  the  Prince  keeping  us  clear  of  the  flukes 
by  great  exertion  at  the  steering  oar.  I  do  not  see  how  he 
did  it,  and  I  did  not  see  at  the  time,  for  my  back  was 
toward  him,  and  I  was  putting  my  whole  heart  into  heav- 
ing, to  gain  a  few  inches  at  a  time.  I  very  nearly  put  the 
flesh  of  my  hands  into  it,  too.  By  the  time  the  flukes  were 
astern  of  us,  I  felt  as  if  all  my  fingers  had  been  stripped 
to  the  bone;  as  if  they  were  in  the  same  condition  they 
were  in  the  day  Jimmy  and  I  got  John  Appleby's  boat 
aground  on  Fort  Phoenix  shoal. 

The  line  now  broke  the  pin  in  the  chocks,  I  suppose  at 
a  leap  of  the  boat  and  a  heave  on  the  steering  oar,  and 
jumped  out  of  the  chocks.  It  brought  up  on  the  kicking- 
strap,  pulling  over  the  port  bow  at  a  slight  angle  with  the 
boat,  which  kept  clear  automatically.  A  few  inches  of 
clear  water  showed  between  the  boat  and  the  body  of  the 
running  whale,  whose  speed  had  not  slackened  in  the  least. 
I  remember  that  the  wave  from  the  boat  and  that  from 
the  whale,  meeting  at  such  close  quarters,  resulted  in  a 
nearly  vertical  sheet  of  water,  which  came  steadily  over 
the  side,  making  a  nearly  continuous  cataract  down  my 
back  until  I  moved  over. 


218  SHE  BLOWS! 

Mr.  Brown  looked  around  apprehensively;  but  seeing 
that  the  boat  was  all  right,  and  that  the  arrangement 
would  give  him  an  excellent  chance  to  lance,  he  ordered 
Kane  to  take  the  line  and  heave  a  little.  That  would  put 
him  where  he  wanted  to  be.  Kane,  the  bow  oar,  took  the 
line  all  right,  but  was  unable  to  heave  us  any  farther  for- 
ward, and  I  took  hold.  Together,  we  heaved  the  boat  up 
before  any  of  the  others  could  get  hold.  Once  there,  my 
only  idea  was  to  hold  us  there,  close  to  that  whale.  Be- 
fore the  Prince  had  a  chance  to  take  in  the  slack  of  the 
line  and  hold  around  the  loggerhead,  out  of  the  depths  of 
my  ignorance  and  thoughtlessness,  I  did  it.  I  might  have 
known  better  if  I  had  stopped  to  think,  but  I  might  not, 
and  there  was  no  time  to  stop  and  think.  I  took  a  couple 
of  turns  with  the  slack  around  the  thwart,  and  pulled  the 
bight  of  the  line  through.  It  was  a  slipknot,  and  could  be 
released  by  a  yank  upon  the  line  held  in  my  hand. 

We  were  now  holding  our  position  close  to  the  irons  — 
naturally  enough  —  and  Mr.  Brown  seemed  to  be  pleased. 
He  was  unaware  of  my  device.  He  lanced  the  whale  again 
and  again,  but  was  unable  to  reach  the  life.  The  whale 
was  spouting  thin  blood,  but  did  not  seem  to  be  much  dis- 
tressed; not  as  much  as  we  were,  for  the  boat  was  taking 
over  the  side  a  plentiful  spray,  and  the  bloody  vapor  of 
his  spout  enveloped  us.  It  was  like  an  acid. 

Suddenly  he  turned  —  so  quickly  that  the  boat  ran 
plump  into  him,  and  a  little  way  upon  his  body,  so  close 
to  the  irons  that  I  could  have  reached  them  by  leaning  out 
a  little.  Mr.  Brown  seized  his  opportunity,  and  drove  his 
lance  twice  into  the  life. 

"  Slack  your  line,  quick,"  he  said,  "  and  stern  all  !  " 

Then  he  looked  around,  and  saw  my  knot,  of  which  I 
had  been  so  proud.  I  was  yanking  desperately  at  the  line 
to  release  the  knot,  but  it  would  not  come.  I  was  not 
strong  enough,  it  seemed. 

Mr.  Brown's  face  expressed  the  most  utter  disgust.  He 
said  nothing,  but  seized  the  hatchet  to  cut. 


A  DANGEROUS  KNOT  219 

It  was  not  necessary,  for  Kane  had  seen  my  trouble, 
had  sprung  and  grabbed  the  line  with  me.  We  yanked  to- 
gether, and  the  knot  came  loose  with  a  noise  like  an  ex- 
plosion. Never  in  my  life  have  I  felt  more  relief  than  I 
felt  at  that  sound.  We  backed  off  instantly,  and  the  flukes 
came  down  on  the  water,  just  missing  the  boat.  I  did  not 
mind  it,  and  was  really  not  aware  of  it.  I  did  not  mind 
anything  now  that  that  confounded  knot  was  loose. 

The  whale  was  going  into  his  flurry,  but  we  got  well 
clear  of  him.  In  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  more  he  lay  fin 
out.  The  ship  was  hull  down  to  leeward. 

That  evening,  after  we  had  towed  the  whale  to  the  ship, 
and  had  made  it  fast  alongside,  Mr.  Brown  found  me  and 
gave  me  a  serious  overhauling.  It  was  not  long,  and  it  was 
kindly,  but  I  never  forgot  it.  The  gist  of  it  was  that  a 
whale  line  should  never  be  made  fast. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

When  we  had  the  trying-out  finished  —  the  whale  made 
about  sixty-three  barrels  —  we  were  not  far  from  Baza- 
ruta  Island,  and  the  captain  thought  it  a  good  chance  to 
lay  in  some  wood.  Two  boats  were  sent  ashore,  the  men 
taking  axes,  while  the  Clearchus  lay  near,  and  the  rest  of 
the  crew  were  busy  with  their  cleaning  and  scrubbing.  I 
was  sent  ashore  with  the  boats.  The  island,  or  at  any 
rate  the  part  of  it  which  we  saw,  was  uninhabited,  and 
was  covered  with  a  dense  jungle  of  woods  and  vines  and 
creepers.  There  was  an  abundance  of  wood,  but  it  was 
rather  hard  to  get,  and  we  were  there  for  two  days,  the 
boats  taking  off  the  wood  as  fast  as  we  got  it  cut.  The 
second  day  I  got  lost  in  the  jungle,  and  I  might  be  there 
yet  if  it  had  not  been  for  Peter. 

There  were  a  good  many  snakes  in  the  jungle,  the 
cobra  among  them.  I  did  not  know  much  about  snakes,  did 
not  recognize  the  cobra,  and  did  not  appreciate  its  qual- 
ity. I  had  become  separated  from  the  others  in  my  pur- 
suit of  trees  which  I  could  tackle  alone,  and  which  would 
be  of  any  value  as  fuel.  When  at  last  I  looked  up,  I 
realized  that  I  was  lost.  I  had  stepped  so  thoroughly 
around  the  tree  that  my  trail  in  had  become  obliterated, 
and  I  could  not  tell  which  way  to  go.  I  tried  several  ways, 
but  they  all  ended  in  a  tangle  of  vegetation,  and  I  began 
to  get  really  scared,  but  I  did  not  like  to  yell.  I  stopped 
and  looked  about  me,  and  I  saw  a  snake  crawling  slug- 
gishly away. 

My  only  experience  with  snakes  had  been  with  these  lit- 
tle green  or  mottled-brown  grass  snakes,  about  two  feet 
long  or  less,  or  with  adders,  and  a  couple  of  big  black- 
snakes.  The  black  snakes  I  let  alone,  but  I  was  accustomed 


A  SNAKE  IN  THE  JUNGLE  221 

to  catch  the  grass  snakes  and  treat  them  as  pets.  I  had  a 
box  in  our  back  yard,  covered  with  wire  netting,  in  which 
I  put  them,  and  kept  them  until  my  mother  made  too 
strenuous  objection  to  the  practice.  Then,  although  I 
could  not  understand  why  she  should  object  so  strongly, 
I  bowed  to  the  inevitable.  They  were  pretty  things,  and 
quite  harmless;  even  useful,  but  she  neither  knew  nor 
cared  about  that.  So,  when  I  saw  that  snake  in  the  jungle, 
instead  of  letting  him  go  peaceably,  as  anybody  else 
would  have  done,  and  glad  that  he  was  going,  I  leaped 
after  him.  It  was  not  so  very  big,  perhaps  three  or  four 
feet  long. 

The  snake  hurried  when  I  jumped,  but  I  kept  on,  and 
it  stopped  and  faced  me,  rearing  its  head  erect,  some  dis- 
tance from  the  ground.  Its  hood  puffed  out,  and  its  head 
waved  slowly  from  side  to  side.  I  began  to  be  scared  then, 
and  backed  away.  There  was  a  slight  movement  in  the 
vines  and  bushes  back  of  the  snake,  they  parted  silently, 
and  I  saw  Peter  looking  at  me.  I  did  not  speak,  but 
pointed  at  the  snake.  Peter  did  not  delay.  His  axe  fell 
upon  the  snake,  and  cut  it  cleanly  in  two  parts. 

"  Come,  lad,"  said  Peter.  "  We  missed  you,  and  nobody 
knew  which  way  you  'd  gone.  They  're  about  done." 

I  remonstrated.  "  But,  Peter,  my  tree."  And  I  pointed 
at  the  fallen  monarch  of  the  forest,  which  was  about  six 
inches  through  at  the  butt,  and  twenty-five  feet  long. 

Peter  smiled.  "  Aye,  lad,  I  heard  it  fall.  It  was  by  that 
I  found  you.  Maybe  we  '11  get  it,  and  maybe  not.  I  think 
they  're  ready  to  put  off  to  the  ship  and  are  waiting  for 
us." 

So  I  followed  him,  leaving  my  precious  tree,  and  leav- 
ing the  pieces  of  the  snake  still  writhing  about  on  the 
ground.  According  to  all  my  lore,  they  would  continue  to 
writhe  until  sunset,  which  was  not  far  off.  I  determined 
to  add  to  my  curriculum  a  brief  course  upon  snakes.  I  felt 
sure  that  the  course  would  meet  Mr.  Brown's  approval^ 
and  that  he  was  qualified  to  give  it. 


222  SHE  BLOWS! 

We  made  sail  on  the  Clearchus,  and  stood  for  the 
southern  end  of  Madagascar;  rounded  it,  and  stood  north- 
erly. There  was  rather  a  strong  current  against  us,  but 
the  wind  held  strong  from  the  east  and  southeast,  and  we 
made  nearly  four  knots  in  spite  of  the  current.  Peter  was 
occupied  with  the  stove  boat.  He  had  little  help,  but  he 
did  not  want  any.  There  was  a  fascination  in  watching 
his  deliberate  movements,  every  one  of  which  was  to  the 
certain  end;  the  same  kind  of  fascination  which  I  used  to 
feel  in  watching  Oman,  a  cabinet-maker,  at  work.  Oman 
seemed  slow,  and  his  manner  of  working  would  not  have 
been  approved  by  a  modern  efficiency  expert,  but  he  knew 
his  trade  from  top  to  bottom,  and  was  a  master  workman. 
He  loved  his  work,  as  any  master  workman  must.  Not 
one  of  his  deliberate  movements  was  wasted,  and  the 
beautiful  end  was  reached  with  surprising  ease  and 
quickness;  and  what  an  end  it  was  !  Peter  was  no  cabinet- 
maker, but  his  method  of  working  was  the  same. 

When  we  had  made  about  half  the  length  of  Madagas- 
car without  even  raising  a  spout,  we  fell  in  with  another 
New  Bedford  whaler,  the  Apollo,  and  Captain  Nelson 
went  aboard  of  her  for  a  gam  with  Captain  Hendrickson. 
I  did  not  go.  They  gammed  from  early  morning  to  late 
in  the  afternoon,  and  then  I  saw  Captain  Nelson's  boat 
coming  back.  The  mate  of  the  Apollo,  who  had  been  vis- 
iting us,  hurried  away  with  his  men.  As  far  as  I  could 
gather  from  what  I  overheard,  the  master  of  the  Apollo 
had  not  communicated  anything  of  value.  She  was  a  full 
ship,  however,  on  her  way  home,  and  the  old  man  —  Cap- 
tain Nelson  —  felt  sure  that  she  had  found  some  new 
cruising  ground,  either  in  the  Indian  Ocean  or  in  the  Pa- 
cific, he  thought  more  likely  the  Indian  Ocean.  He  had 
spent  the  day  in  detective  work,  trying  to  find  some  clue 
to  its  location,  but  without  result.  Whaling  captains,  when 
they  have  happened  upon  a  new  field,  guard  the  secret  as 
carefully  as  they  can,  but  it  leaks  out  in  a  year  or  two. 


MADAGASCAR  223 

No  doubt  Captain  Hendrickson  was  laughing  at  him  at 
that  moment.  He  said  this,  standing  on  deck,  looking  back 
at  the  Apollo  sinking  into  the  sea  behind  us.  She  was  hull 
down  already,  enveloped  in  a  purple  haze,  for  the  sun  was 
near  its  setting.  The  captain  stood  for  some  time  silently 
gazing,  until  the  old-fashioned  square  topsails  of  the 
Apollo  were  lost  in  the  haze.  Then  he  turned,  smiling,  to 
go  below. 

"  I  '11  find  it,  by  Godfrey,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "  if 
I  have  to  comb  these  seas  with  a  fine-toothed  comb." 

Two  days  later  we  raised  a  spout  nearly  in  sight  of 
Tamatave.  Tamatave  is  on  the  east  coast  of  Madagascar, 
in  about  18°  south  latitude.  It  was  a  calm  morning,  and  the 
whale  was  about  three  miles  off.  He  was  lying  lazily  on 
the  surface,  and  we  watched  him  for  an  hour  and  a  half, 
waiting  for  him  to  go  down.  At  last  he  decided  to  go.  His 
flukes  went  straight  up  into  the  air,  and  he  went  down  in 
a  very  leisurely  manner,  as  if  it  was  almost  too  much 
trouble  to  eat.  It  was  as  if  he  sighed  and  said,  "  Well, 
here  goes.  I  suppose  I  must  get  to  work."  That  was  the 
way  I  felt  on  that  morning,  and  I  had  no  doubt  the  whale 
felt  much  the  same.  Why  should  n't  whales  feel  so  ? 

We  lowered  two  boats,  and  pulled  to  the  spot.  There 
was  a  gentle  little  breeze,  and  both  boats  put  up  their 
sails  and  sailed  to  and  fro,  waiting  for  him  to  come  up. 
I  was  enjoying  myself  thoroughly,  and  did  not  care  if 
he  never  came  up.  Indeed,  we  began  to  think  he  never 
would.  It  got  to  be  an  hour  since  he  had  gone  down,  and 
there  was  no  sign  of  him.  Then  an  hour  and  five  minutes, 
and  we  lowered  the  sail  and  unstepped  the  mast.  This 
was  hardly  done  when  he  appeared  silently,  an  eighth  of 
a  mile  away,  heading  toward  us.  We  were  in  an  excellent 
situation,  for  as  he  was  coming  on,  and  could  not  see  us, 
there  was  nothing  for  us  to  do  but  wait  for  him. 

He  continued  to  forge  ahead  slowly,  Mr.  Baker's  boat, 
half  a  mile  or  more  astern  of  him,  pulling  up  as  hard  as  the 


224  SHE  BLOWS! 

men  could  pull.  The  whale  was  to  windward  of  us,  and 
we  could  hear  his  spout  plainly,  loud  and  hoarse  and 
deep-toned.  It  sounded  like  the  exhaust  of  the  Mono- 
hanset,  the  boat  that  ran  between  New  Bedford  and  the 
Vineyard.  We  waited,  our  oars  out,  and  still  he  came  on 
blindly,  steering  a  somewhat  zigzag  course,  to  enlarge  his 
field  of  vision,  and  stopping  now  and  then,  with  his  head 
out  of  water,  to  listen. 

He  was  pretty  near  us  now,  and  the  Prince  was  getting 
excited  and  impatient.  He  signalled  Mr.  Brown  with  his 
lips  moving  silently,  to  have  the  men  pull  a  few  strokes 
to  lay  us  on,  but  Mr.  Brown  shook  his  head.  Again  the 
whale  heaved  his  head  out,  almost  within  darting  distance. 

"  Now,  pull !  A  good  stroke !  " 

We  pulled  with  all  our  might.  It  was  only  about 
thirty  feet  that  we  had  to  go.  We  ranged  alongside  of  his 
head,  and  he  was  very  plainly  trying  to  make  out  what 
the  noise  was,  and  where  it  came  from.  The  moment  we 
came  within  his  field  of  sight  he  began  to  settle.  There 
was  no  other  possible  escape;  but  he  was  not  quick 
enough,  and  the  Prince  planted  one  iron  deep  in  his 
shoulder,  just  above  his  fin.  The  whale  had  settled  too 
deep  for  the  second  iron,  which  did  not  bite  at  all.  By 
the  time  both  irons  had  been  let  go  we  were  backing  off. 

That  whale  immediately  lost  all  signs  of  leisureliness 
and  laziness,  and  went  down  so  fast  that  it  was  all  we 
could  do  to  keep  the  line  whipping  clear  out  of  the  tub. 
The  end  of  that  tub  was  approaching  rapidly,  and  the 
other  tub  was  bent  on  as  fast  as  a  man  could  work.  Still 
there  was  no  sign  of  slackening  in  the  speed  of  sounding, 
and  the  end  of  the  second  tub,  too,  was  not  far  off. 

"  The  drug  !  "  was  the  cry.  "  Drug,  there  !  Hurry  !  " 

The  drug,  or  drag,  was  hastily  passed.  Our  drags  were 
of  two  pieces  of  plank,  crossed,  and  bolted  securely  to- 
gether, with  a  loop  of  whale  line  through  the  centre.  On 
the  opposite  side  from  the  loop  a  strong,  stubby  staff  pro- 


A  WHALE  CARRIES  OFF  A  DRAG    225 

jected  about  a  foot.  It  was  meant  that  a  piece  of  canvas 
should  be  fastened  to  the  staff.  The  canvas  might  survive 
dragging  through  the  water,  and  would  make  the  drag 
more  conspicuous  on  the  surface;  but  there  was  none  on 
our  drags  that  day.  There  seldom  was  any. 

The  end  of  the  line  in  a  tub  is  always  exposed  for  just 
such  occasions,  and  our  second  tub  of  line  was  hastily 
bent  on  to  the  loop  of  the  drag,  and  the  drag  held  clear, 
ready  to  go  overboard.  This  was  scarcely  done  when  the 
last  coil  of  line  snapped  out  of  the  tub,  and  the  drug 
made  a  bee  line  for  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  We  lay  there 
helpless,  without  a  foot  of  whale  line  in  the  boat,  and  our 
whale  —  nobody  knew  where  he  was  exactly,  but  some- 
where under  us,  from  one  to  two  hundred  fathoms  deep. 
A  line  will  follow  all  the  windings  of  its  course  under 
water,  very  nearly,  and  the  whale  might  have  turned  at 
some  depth,  and  the  line  still  go  straight  down. 

That  must  have  been  just  what  this  whale  did,  as  it 
turned  out,  for  he  rose  soon  after,  about  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  away,  and  made  off  just  a  little  faster  than  the  boats 
could  go,  although  we  tried  hard.  The  drug  appeared 
some  minutes  after  the  whale  had  shown  himself,  and 
went  skittering  off  after  him,  jumping  from  sea  to  sea, 
or  from  one  side  to  the  other,  tantalizingly  near.  Both 
boats  followed  it.  It  did  not  go  very  much  faster  than  we 
did,  pulling  our  hearts  out  for  an  hour  dead  to  wind- 
ward ;  but  it  gained  on  us  very  slowly,  and  we  gave  it  up 
at  last,  and  lay  on  our  oars,  while  we  watched  that  drug 
flash  in  the  sun,  farther  and  farther  away.  It  flashed  its 
last,  and  we  turned  and  pulled  back  to  the  ship,  leaving 
the  whale  in  possession  of  two  good  harpoons,  almost  two 
hundred  fathoms  of  nearly  new  whale  line,  and  a  per- 
fectly good  drug,  a  work  of  art.  I  hoped  he  would  enjoy 
their  use.  We  never  heard  anything  more  of  any  of  them. 
Possibly,  even  now,  there  is  a  whale,  fairly  old,  swim- 
ming the  seas  somewhere,  with  an  old  rusty  harpoon  en- 


226  SHE  BLOWS! 

cysted  in  his  shoulder,  the  remains  of  a  frayed  old  line 
trailing  from  it,  fringed  with  green  or  brown  trailing 
weed  along  its  whole  length,  encrusted  with  barnacles, 
and  alive  with  little  crabs  and  sea-horses.  I  am  confident 
that  he  has  never  been  taken. 

After  our  exploit  with  that  whale  we  cruised  to  the 
eastward  to  the  north  of  Mauritius,  but  did  not  raise  a 
spout.  Captain  Nelson  seemed  to  have  made  up  his  mind 
that  there  were  no  more  whales  to  be  found  in  those 
waters,  for  he  stood  away  to  the  northwest,  for  the  north- 
ern end  of  Madagascar.  We  passed  within  sight  of  it,  but 
did  not  stop. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  speculation  among  the  crew  as 
to  where  we  were  going,  for  although  the  mastheads  were 
kept  manned,  the  routine  of  cruising  grounds  was  aban- 
doned, and  the  Clearchus  was  under  a  press  of  sail  for  a 
whaler.  The  men  insisted  that  she  was  bound  for  some 
definite  port  on  the  east  coast,  and  when  we  had  passed 
Madagascar,  and  the  course  was  changed  by  a  point  or 
so,  many  of  them  said  that  it  was  Zanzibar.  In  the  fore- 
castle they  had  long  disputes  upon  the  matter,  and  I  lis- 
tened, but  took  no  part  in  them.  I  was  often  there. 

My  own  position  on  the  ship  was  somewhat  unusual.  I 
was  still  cabin  boy,  but  I  was  one  of  Mr.  Brown's  crew 
too,  and  had  been  for  some  months.  I  had  grown  nearly  a 
foot  in  the  past  year,  was  a  great,  overgrown  sixteen- 
year-old  boy,  with  more  muscle  than  I  knew  how  to  man- 
age. I  must  have  been  a  raw,  red,  awkward  chap,  but  for- 
tunately for  me  I  did  not  know  it.  In  virtue  of  my  place 
in  the  boat  I  had  acknowledged  right  in  the  forecastle, 
and  I  availed  myself  of  it  as  often  as  I  could.  I  loved  to 
be  there,  sitting  on  the  deck,  perhaps,  under  the  flaring 
tin  lamp,  or  on  a  sea-chest  which  stood  in  a  dark  corner, 
and  listening  to  the  talk  of  the  men.  That  talk,  I  sup- 
pose, was  not  edifying,  but  I  did  not  join  in  it,  and  I 
heard  there  many  yarns  of  whales  and  whaling,  to  which 


ZANZIBAR  227 

I  listened  with  open  ears  and  open  mouth  —  and  open 
nose.  The  smells  of  that  forecastle  ! 

I  found  out  where  we  were  probably  bound  by  the  sim- 
ple expedient  of  looking  on  the  chart.  I  had  been  rather 
neglecting  my  privileges  in  that  respect.  The  course  which 
was  being  pricked  there  led  straight  to  Zanzibar  or  very 
near  it,  although  there  was  no  certainty  that  the  course 
might  not  be  changed.  There  was  no  other  port  of  any 
consequence  but  Zanzibar.  There  was  elation  among  most 
of  the  old  sailors  when  I  told  them  of  it,  but  Peter  shook 
his  head  doubtfully. 

"  Zanzibar,"  he  said  thoughtfully.  "  I  know  it  well 
enough.  It 's  full  of  wickedness,  and  that  of  no  white 
man's  sort.  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  were  nothing  to  it." 

Three  days  later  we  dropped  our  anchor  in  the  harbor 
of  Zanzibar. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

I  stood  at  the  rail,  gazing  at  the  harbor  and  the  town. 
My  eyes  were  half  closed,  my  chin  rested  on  my  hands, 
which  clasped  the  rail,  and  I  was  lost  in  a  dream  of  the 
East.  Small  boats  plied  the  near  waters,  the  boatmen  cry- 
ing out  shrilly  now  and  then,  but  my  ears  were  deaf  to 
their  cries.  The  spacious  harbor  lay  before  me,  with  many 
vessels  of  all  kinds  and  nationalities  lying  at  anchor,  from 
large  steamers  flying  the  British  flag  to  Arab  dhows.  Life 
was  there.  I  did  not  see  the  filth  washing  to  and  fro  along 
the  shore,  I  saw  only  the  boats  lying  thickly  there  en- 
veloped in  golden  light,  their  sails  of  all  colors  swinging 
lazily.  I  did  not  see  the  narrow,  dirty  streets,  swarming 
with  the  life  of  all  Asia  and  Africa;  I  saw  only  the  mass 
of  light  and  shadow,  the  white  walls  of  houses  showing 
pink  in  the  light  of  the  setting  sun,  the  mosques,  the  forts, 
the  palace  of  the  Sultan ;  and,  to  the  left  of  it  as  I  stood, 
what  appeared  to  be  a  ship,  standing  out  clearly. 

Peter's  voice  broke  in  upon  my  dream.  He  had  come  up 
silently,  and  was  at  my  shoulder. 

"  It 's  a  pretty  town,  lad,"  he  said,  "  from  this  distance. 
It  looks  nice  —  but  it  ain't." 

I  said  nothing  for  a  little  while.  "  What  do  they  do  here, 
Peter?"  I  asked  then. 

"Do?  In  Zanzibar?  Most  everything  that  they  do  in 
such  a  port.  They  '11  stick  you  in  the  back  if  you  don't 
keep  your  eyes  open.  But  they  run  to  cloves,  mostly." 

"  Cloves !" 

"  Aye,  lad,  cloves.  They  may  not  do  so  much  as  they  did 
in  that  line,  for  they  had  a  hurricane  here  last  year,  and 
lost  most  of  the  trees  —  or  bushes,  or  whatever  they  are 
that  bear  'em.  It  was  a  terror,  that  hurricane.  I  've  just 


SEEING  THE  TOWN  £29 

heard  of  it.  But  yon  can  smell  cloves  if  you  take  a  good 
sniff.  When  we  go  ashore  to-morrow  we  can  see  some  of 
their  storehouses,  mebbe,  if  you  want  to.  For  myself,  I  'm 
not  much  interested  in  cloves." 

I  was  not  greatly  interested  in  cloves,  either.  When  the 
boat  took  us  ashore  the  next  morning,  Peter  and  me,  and 
a  crowd  of  liberty  men,  I  saw  the  filth  at  the  harbor's 
edge,  and  the  crooked,  dirty  streets,  hardly  wide  enough 
to  be  called  alleys;  and  crowds  of  Hindus,  Malays, 
Chinamen,  negroes,  and  half-castes,  with  an  Arab  or  a 
white  man  here  and  there  —  very  few  whites.  I  lost  what 
little  interest  I  had  felt  in  cloves. 

The  other  men  went  up  one  of  the  streets  arm  in  arm, 
as  many  abreast  as  the  street  would  hold,  with  a  second 
rank  behind.  Peter  stood  looking  after  them  until  they 
had  disappeared  around  a  corner. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  said  reflectively,  "  how  they  '11  come 
back."  Then  he  turned  to  me.  "Well,  lad,  up  anchor." 

We  wandered  about  the  town  all  day;  toward  the  pal- 
ace, to  get  a  nearer  view  of  the  stone  ship,  which  is  a 
water-tank,  or  tanks,  curiously  carved;  then  back  again 
through  the  narrow  streets  to  the  bazaars.  I  wondered 
at  the  heavy  and  massive  wooden  doors,  almost  black  and 
all  carved  more  or  less,  conspicuous  in  the  white  walls  of 
the  houses.  We  got  hungry,  and  managed  to  find  some- 
thing to  eat:  a  concoction  of  rice  and  various  other  things 
—  I  don't  know  what  there  was  in  it,  but  Peter  seemed 
to  know  it,  and  spiced  it  rather  highly.  Then  we  loafed 
from  shop  to  shop,  looking  in  at  the  things  for  sale,  but 
buying  nothing,  although  I  was  tempted  two  or  three 
times.  Peter  restrained  me.  The  shops  had  open  fronts, 
and  the  proprietor  was  usually  to  be  seen  sitting  fatly 
among  the  shadows.  At  last  we  came  to  a  place  where 
the  street  widened  a  little.  Peter  was  hot  and  perspiring. 
So  was  I.  The  climate  of  Zanzibar  is  not  all  that  could 
be  desired.    Peter  proposed  that  we  find  a  shady  place 


2S0  SHE  BLOWS! 

•where  they  sold  something  harmless  to  drink.  He  found 
it,  and  we  sat  in  a  shady  corner,  screened  from  the  street, 
and  sipped  our  drinks  slowly.  Mine,  I  remember,  was 
coffee,  but  I  should  not  have  known  it  for  the  drink  that 
went  by  that  name  on  the  ship,  or  even  at  home,  although 
I  was  rarely  allowed  coffee  at  home.  My  mother  had  an 
idea  that  it  was  stunting. 

A  man  came  sauntering  down  the  street  from  the  direc- 
tion of  the  palace.  I  noticed  him  particularly,  for  there 
was  something  queer  about  him ;  the  silent,  furtive  way  of 
walking,  perhaps.  I  thought  him  a  Hindu  or  a  Malay, 
and  Peter  said  that  he  was  from  the  hills  of  India.  There 
were  many  hillmen  at  the  palace.  The  man  seemed  to  be 
talking  or  muttering  to  himself,  and  he  stopped  in  the 
middle  of  the  open  place,  or  square,  and  the  sun  beat 
down  upon  his  head  as  he  looked  about  him  with  fierce 
and  melancholy  eyes.  They  looked  as  if  he  had  been  a 
long  time  in  hell,  and  saw  no  chance  of  getting  out. 

Our  proprietor  had  settled  himself  on  some  cushions, 
and  was  dozing  quietly,  his  hands  clasped  across  his  fat 
stomach.  Something  made  him  open  his  eyes,  and  he  found 
the  melancholy,  desperate  eyes  of  the  man  fixed  upon  his. 
He  cried  out  in  terror,  and  started  up,  but  he  was  not 
quick  enough.  The  man's  eyes  flamed,  he  drew  from  his 
girdle  a  wicked-looking  knife,  made  two  bounds,  and 
plunged  the  knife  into  the  fat  stomach. 

Instantly  all  was  confusion  among  the  shops.  Men, 
women,  and  children  scuttled  like  hares.  By  the  time  the 
man  had  turned  around,  the  square  was  utterly  deserted 
except  for  a  shopkeeper  on  the  other  side,  who  was  hastily 
putting  up  his  shutters,  and  for  a  little  boy  who  was 
pounding  desperately  on  a  massive,  carved  black  door, 
begging  those  behind  it  to  let  him  in.  I  had  just  seen  the 
door  close  quietly  on  the  keeper  of  one  of  the  bazaars 
and  two  women.  The  man  had  not  noticed  Peter  and  me 
sitting  behind  our  screen  in  the  darkness. 


A  KNIFE  SAVES  PETER  231 

The  man  leaped  across  the  square,  and  settled  the 
shopkeeper  who  had  been  putting  up  the  shutters.  He 
was  relieved  of  that  duty  forever.  The  little  boy  was  still 
pounding  on  the  door,  and  the  man  turned  toward  him. 
The  boy  began  to  scream. 

"  Here !  "  Peter  growled.  "  This  won't  do."  He  got  up 
hastily,  upsetting  the  stand,  with  cups  and  glasses.  They 
made  a  great  crashing  and  ringing.  Peter  snatched  away 
the  screen.  "  Hey  you !  Ahoy !  "  he  yelled.  "  'Vast  there !  " 

The  man's  head  had  turned  at  the  crash.  He  abandoned 
his  pursuit  of  the  little  boy,  and  with  a  smile  of  fright- 
fulness  he  launched  himself  at  Peter.  Peter  had  reached 
in  his  belt  for  his  knife,  but  it  was  no  match  at  all  for  the 
knife  coming  for  him.  I  knew  it,  and  I  freed  myself  and 
sprang  out.  I  should  have  done  so  before,  but  my  mind 
seemed  paralyzed,  and  I  incapable  of  movement.  It  was 
like  a  dream  in  its  effect,  and  in  its  quickness.  The  whole 
thing  had  not  taken  half  a  minute;  hardly  a  quarter. 

The  man  was  almost  upon  Peter  —  I  had  not  reached 
him  —  when  there  was  a  hiss  at  my  ear,  a  flash  in  the 
sun,  a  streak  of  light  shot  past  me,  and  for  an  instant  I 
saw  the  handle  of  a  knife  quivering  at  his  throat.  It  was 
just  above  the  breast  bone  —  a  fair  bulls-eye  —  and  the 
blade  was  buried.  To  this  day  I  remember  exactly  how 
it  looked,  quivering  rapidly  for  an  instant  with  the  force 
of  the  blow;  an  ivory  handle,  stained  and  polished  with 
much  grasping,  one  point  of  its  curved  surface  reflecting 
the  sunlight  in  a  fierce  flicker,  which  hurt  my  eyes.  Then 
the  man  made  a  lunge  at  Peter,  missed,  and  fell  sprawl- 
ing. 

Peter  and  I  stood  still,  staring  at  him.  He  squirmed  a 
little. 

"  It  was  well  thrown,"  said  Peter  thoughtfully;  "  a'most 
too  well." 

"  Did  for  him,"  said  a  voice  right  behind  us.  "  May  as 
well  take  my  knife." 


232  SHE  BLOWS! 

The  owner  of  the  voice  stepped  forward,  bent,  and 
coolly  drew  the  knife  from  the  throat.  It  was  followed 
by  a  gush  of  blood.  He  moved  his  foot  quickly,  so  that  it 
should  not  be  stained  by  the  blood;  then  wiped  the  blade 
deliberately  and  carefully  on  the  gaudy  sash  around  the 
body  on  the  ground.  Then  he  stood  straight  again,  slip- 
ping the  knife  into  its  sheath  on  his  hip. 

"  Better  fade  away,  mates,"  he  said.  "  Follow  me.  I 
know  the  town." 

The  massive  black  door  was  opening  cautiously.  The 
boy  lay  upon  the  ground,  overcome  with  fright.  The 
knife-thrower  moved  away  silently  and  swiftly,  and 
Peter  and  I  followed  him.  With  twistings  and  turnings 
and  doublings  that  would  have  done  credit  to  the  crafti- 
est old  fox,  we  came,  at  last,  to  the  water-front,  and  to 
the  boat  landing.  We  saw  the  boat  just  putting  off  from 
the  ship.  I  turned  to  our  companion,  for  I  had  had  no 
chance  to  see  what  he  was  like,  and  we  had  been  too  busy 
to  observe  anyway;  but  his  back  was  not  prepossessing, 
as  he  threaded  those  narrow  lanes  with  swiftness  and  cer- 
tainty. I  saw  Peter  looking  him  over  too,  with  his  air  of 
detachment,  and  a  half  smile  of  amusement  on  his  face. 

The  man  was  a  crafty  old  fox.  That  was  sure.  He 
showed  no  particular  age,  but  might  have  been  anywhere 
from  thirty  to  fifty.  He  was  of  medium  height,  spare  and 
lean  and  thin,  with  the  leanness  of  an  animal  forced  to 
forage  for  a  scanty  living  —  a  pariah  dog,  and  with  the 
furtive  air  of  such  an  animal.  His  face  was  seamed  and 
crossed  with  lines,  probably  due  to  his  manner  of  life 
rather  than  marking  his  age  in  any  way.  His  eyes  were  a 
light  china  blue  —  they  looked  like  pieces  of  china  set 
into  his  head.  There  was  absolutely  no  depth  to  them,  and 
they  were  as  hard  as  stones.  The  man  might  have  been 
blind.  He  made  me  think  of  a  cat  I  had  known;  a  large 
striped  yellow  cat  with  one  blue  eye  and  one  yellow  one; 
a,   very   still,   calculating   cat,   contemplating  the   world 


THE  KNIFE-THROWER  233 

calmly  out  of  its  cruel,  painted  eyes;  a  cat  absolutely 
without  affection,  ready  to  take  any  action  which  prom- 
ised success;  a  cat  without  remorse  and  without  shame. 
It  may  be  inferred  that  I  do  not  like  cats.  In  general,  per- 
haps, I  do  not;  I  did  not  take  to  this  man  either. 

It  is  not  unlikely  that  the  man  felt  what  was  passing 
in  my  mind,  much  as  a  dog  feels  such  things.  With  a  dog 
there  is  no  need  for  acts,  or  even  for  a  change  of  the  ex- 
pression of  your  face.  He  feels  what  is  passing  in  your 
mind;  smells  it,  perhaps.  This  knife-thrower,  who  threw 
a  knife  almost  too  well  to  suit  Peter's  fastidious  temper, 
had  been  looking  me  over,  much  as  I  had  been  apprais- 
ing him,  each  of  us  after  his  manner.  Now  he  smiled 
faintly  and  disdainfully  —  perhaps  he  had  had  many 
such  experiences  —  and  looked  away  at  our  boat. 

"  Much  obliged,"  said  Peter. 

The  man  seemed  surprised.  "For  what?"  he  asked. 

"  The  knife,"  Peter  replied. 

"  Oh,  that,"  the  man  said  carelessly.  "  He  would  have 
come  at  me  next.  I  was  behind  you,  and  no  place  to  slip 
away  to.  I  do  not  like  to  run  from  a  thing  like  that,  so 
I  stopped  him." 

"  You  throw  a  knife  well,"  said  Peter. 

"  I  do,"  said  the  man  with  cool  and  impersonal  candor, 
as  though  he  was  telling  the  simple  truth  —  which  he  un- 
doubtedly was.  "  Practice,  you  know,  makes  perfect.  But 
the  man  was  running  amok.  Anybody  could  have  killed 
him  and  been  thanked  for  it.  I  have  seen  several  of  them, 
Malays  mostly.  It  seemed  wiser  to  slip  away.  He  was 
from  the  palace." 

Neither  Peter  nor  I  made  any  reply. 

"  Your  ship  's  a  whaler,  I  take  it,"  the  man  resumed 
presently.  "  I  spotted  you  for  whalemen.  Sperm  ?  " 

Peter  nodded. 

"  To  Australia,  Sunda  Strait,  China  Sea,  Japan,  and 
New  Zealand?" 


234  SHE  BLOWS!. 

"  I  s'pose  so,"  said  Peter,  "  but  I  can't  say  for  certain." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  the  man  slowly,  "  if  your  vessel 
needs  another  hand?  Are  you  a  boatsteerer ?  "  he  asked, 
looking  at  Peter. 

Peter  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"  You  ought  to  be,"  the  man  said,  "  or  one  of  the  mates. 
Been  to  sea  all  your  life,  haven't  you?  " 

"  Forty  years,  and  over." 

"  I  thought  so.  Know  a  ship  from  truck  to  keelson. 
More  real  seamanship  than  the  rest  of  the  crew  put  to- 
gether. Old  navy  man  and  merchant  service,  too,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Peter,  modestly.  "  How  did  you  know?  " 

"  I  know  the  signs." 

"  Well,"  said  Peter,  "  you  might  speak  to  the  mate. 
That 's  Mr.  Baker  in  charge  of  that  boat  —  chief  mate." 

How  Peter  could  have  told  so  certainly  was  beyond  my 
comprehension;  but  he  had  good  eyes.  We  stood  silently 
until  the  boat  came  in.  Then  the  man  spoke  to  Mr.  Baker, 
who  received  his  application  well  enough.  He  looked  the 
man  over. 

"  What  have  you  sailed  in?  " 

"Almost  everything,  sir,  from  dhows  to  whalers,  for 
the  last  ten  years." 

"Whalers?  What  vessels?" 

"  Only  one,  the  Apollo." 

"  Apollo,  eh  ?  How  long  were  you  in  the  Apollo  ?  And 
when?" 

"The  last  year,  sir." 

Mr.  Baker  grunted.  "  Deserted,  eh  ?  We  left  her  near 
Mauritius  about  a  week  ago,  bound  home." 

The  man  hesitated.  "  Well,  no,  sir.  She  sailed  without 
me." 

"  Drunk,  eh?  Going  to  let  it  go  at  that?  " 

He  hesitated  again.  "  Well,  the  truth  is,  sir,  I  was  n't 
sorry.  I  'm  not  ready  to  go  home  yet." 

"  Think  you  '11  be  ready  to  go  home  in  a  couple  of 
years  ?  Where  do  you  hail  from  ?  " 


A  NEW  HAND  235 

"  Near  Boston." 

Mr.  Baker  grunted  again,  and  was  silent  for  a  little. 
Then  he  directed  a  piercing  look  at  the  man. 

"  Where  has  the  Apollo  been  in  the  last  year  ?  " 

"  Over  New  Zealand  way,  Samoa  and  Kingsmill  — 
South  Seas."     ) 

"  Know  those  waters?  " 

"  Very  well,  sir." 

Mr.  Baker  had  been  standing  beside  the  boat.  Now  he 
turned  away. 

"  All  right.  Wait  here  for  me.  I  '11  be  back  in  half  an 
hour.  I  '11  take  you  aboard,  and  I  have  no  doubt  the  cap- 
tain will  sign  you.  Any  dunnage  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  It 's  all  on  the  Apollo  but  what  I  stand  in." 

Mr.  Baker  looked  at  Peter.  "  You  want  to  go  aboard, 
Peter?" 

"  The  sooner  the  better,  sir.  We  've  seen  all  we  want 
of  the  town." 

"  Liberty  is  n't  up,  you  know.  Muss,  eh?  Better  get  in 
the  boat  if  anybody  comes." 

Mr.  Baker  was  back  in  half  an  hour,  followed  by  por- 
ters with  baskets  of  fresh  provisions.  Three  or  four  more 
of  our  men  had  drifted  down.  When  we  were  halfway  to 
the  ship  Mr.  Baker  spoke. 

"  You  —  what 's  your  name?  " 

"  John  Brown,  sir,"  answered  the  knife-thrower,  with 
half  a  second's  hesitation. 

"  John  Brown,  eh?  We  've  got  one  John  Brown  on  the 
ship.  Would  n't  John  Smith  do  you  just  as  well?  " 

The  man  smiled.  "  If  you  prefer  it,  sir,  I  '11  make  it 
do." 

Mr.  Brown  was  on  deck  when  we  came  aboard,  I  just 
ahead  of  the  man  who  was  to  call  himself  John  Smith. 
Mr.  Brown  looked  kindly  at  me;  then  I  saw  a  curious  ex- 
pression pass  across  his  face,  and  his  eyes  hardened.  It 
passed  in  an  instant,  like  a  cat's-paw  over  water,  but  I 


236  SHE  BLOWS!. 

could  not  help  noting  it.  There  was  surprise  in  it,  and  no 
gratification.  I  remember  that  I  was  disappointed,  for  I 
had  thought  Mr.  Brown  above  those  sudden  dislikes. 

Mr.  Baker  went  into  the  cabin,  and  pretty  soon  Smith 
was  sent  for.  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  came  out  again 
and  went  forward  to  the  forecastle.  There  was  no  fault  to 
be  found  with  him,  but  I  had  an  uneasy  feeling  that  all 
was  not  right,  and  I  went  below  to  find  Captain  Nelson 
and  to  tell  him  of  our  adventure.  I  thought  he  ought  to 
know  it. 

I  found  Mr.  Baker  still  with  him.  They  paid  no  at- 
tention to  me,  but  talked  in  low  tones,  and  I  could  not 
help  hearing  scraps  of  their  talk,  although  I  stood  well 
back.  The  cabin  was  not  very  large. 

"  Seems  an  educated  beggar,"  Mr.  Baker  was  remark- 
ing. "  Knocked  about  .  .  .  my  guess  .  .  .  beach-comber 
.  .  .  can't  tell  what  .  .  .  may  be  good  seaman." 

Captain  Nelson  sat  silent  for  nearly  a  minute. 
"  Hendrickson  spoke  of  him,"  he  said  at  last.  "  Glad  to 
get  rid  of  him.  Trouble-maker.  Don't  much  like  his  cut, 
but  that  Apollo  business  settled  it.  He  may  know  some- 
thing about  it.  If  he  does,  no  reason  why  he  should  n't 
tell."  He  turned  to  me.  "  What  is  it,  Tim  ?  " 

I  told  him  my  story,  a  matter  of  ten  minutes,  perhaps. 

"  H'm !  "  the  captain  grunted.  "  H'm !  You  see,  Mr. 
Baker.  Peter 's  right  enough.  Throws  a  knife  too  well. 
Lucky  he  does,  though,  or  where  'd  Peter  be  —  and  you, 
too,  Tim?  Can't  have  him  carrying  a  knife  like  that  here, 
though.  Gently,  now,  if  you  can,  but  get  that  knife  off 
him." 

To  my  great  surprise,  and  to  Mr.  Baker's  surprise, 
Smith  made  no  objection  whatever  to  depositing  his  knife, 
upon  the  captain's  conditions.  It  was  the  same  knife.  I 
was  ready  to  swear  to  it  when  Captain  Nelson  showed  it 
to  me  for  identification.  Mr.  Baker,  I  know,  distrusted 
his  readiness,  and  thought  he  must  have  another,  prob- 
ably the  mate  of  it,  but  we  never  saw  it. 


JOHN  BROWN  AND  JOHN  SMITH    237 

That  evening  I  was  standing  by  the  rail,  in  the  dark, 
looking  at  the  occasional  lights  which  marked  the  town, 
and  listening  to  sounds  which  came  faintly  across  the 
water.  My  chin  was  on  the  back  of  my  two  hands  resting 
on  the  rail,  and  I  was  dreaming.  When  you  are  at  anchor 
in  harbor,  and  the  darkness  makes  outlines  dim,  it  is  not 
difficult  to  imagine  that  Zanzibar  is  New  Bedford  —  or 
that  any  place  is  any  other  place,  as  long  as  it  has  a  har- 
bor and  a  water  front;  especially  if  that  other  place 
shines  like  a  star  in  your  memory.  I  have  got  much  pleas- 
ure, all  my  life,  from  giving  my  imagination  free  rein. 
It  is  a  harmless  diversion.  I  was  doing  so  then,  standing 
without  motion  by  the  main  rigging,  and  I  must  have  been 
but  one  of  the  shadows  of  rigging,  and  coils  of  rope  hang- 
ing from  belaying  pins,  and  davits. 

Another  man  was  not  far  from  me,  not  as  still  as  I, 
but  moving  softly  and  slowly  to  and  fro.  I  thought  it  was 
one  of  the  officers.  If  it  was,  it  must  be  Mr.  Brown,  and  I 
watched  him  covertly. 

Presently  a  voice  came  out  of  the  darkness,  a  voice 
speaking  low,  cultivated  and  courteous,  as  one  gentleman 
to  another. 

"Does  this  remind  you  of  Batavia,  Mr.  Brown?"  It 
was  a  casual  question,  pleasantly  put,  and  I  saw  no  harm 
in  it.  It  was  the  new  man,  Smith,  who  asked  it.  Why  had 
he  hit  upon  Batavia? 

Judging  by  his  reception  of  it,  Mr.  Brown  saw  noth- 
ing pleasant  in  the  question,  or  in  the  seemingly  harm- 
less manner  of  the  questioner.  He  turned  sharply,  and 
his  voice  was  like  ice. 

"Batavia?  No.  Why  should  it?" 

"  I  thought,"  Smith  replied,  his  voice  showing  that  he 
was  smiling,  "  that  perhaps  you  might  remember  a  pleas- 
ant evening  —  something  like  this  one  —  that  you  spent 
there  some  years  ago." 

Mr.  Brown  turned  completely  around  toward  Smith. 
He  did  not  reply  for  an  instant,  but  when  he  did  — 


£38  SHE  BLOWS! 

"  My  man,"  he  said,  "  I  do  not  know  you.  But  you  may 
as  well  understand  me  clearly.  I  am  the  second  mate  of 
this  ship,  and  I  shall  do  whatever  seems  to  me  necessary 
to  maintain  my  position  and  enforce  my  authority.  Re- 
member that;  anything  whatever.  Go  forward." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Smith.  He  was  actually  laughing,  but 
silently.  I  could  tell  by  his  voice,  and  so  could  Mr.  Brown, 
of  course;  but  the  man's  manner  was  perfectly  respect- 
ful. "  Of  course  you  will.  In  your  place  I  would  do  the 
same.  You  would  be  a  fool  not  to,  and  I  should  say  that 
you  were  never  a  fool." 

"  Go  forward,"  Mr.  Brown  repeated  curtly,  "  and  go 
now." 

He  went  without  further  words.  I  could  hear  him 
chuckling  as  he  went.  Mr.  Brown  stood  looking  after 
him;  then  he  moved  slowly  aft,  while  I  mused  upon  what 
I  had  heard.  It  did  not  take  long  for  me  to  put  two  and 
two  together.  Smith,  or  whatever  his  name  was,  must 
have  been  with  Mr.  Brown  in  Batavia  on  that  night  when 
he  got  those  scars  I  had  seen ;  it  was  not  so  very  unlikely 
that  he  was  the  man  who  had  inflicted  them.  They  had 
recognized  each  other,  but  Mr.  Brown  chose  not  to  admit 
it.  If  I  was  right,  there  was  the  basis  for  a  pretty  quar- 
rel, but  such  quarrels  are  not  pretty  when  they  are  on 
your  own  ship.  I  did  not  like  to  think  of  it  and  of  what 
might  come  of  it. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

Our  liberty  men  appeared  in  various  stages  of  dejection 
from  their  Oriental  haunts  of  infamy,  but  none  were  miss- 
ing, and  we  sailed  for  the  eastward,  to  cruise  about  the 
Seychelles.  Smith  had  been  assigned  to  Mr.  Brown's  boat, 
to  take  my  oar,  for  I  was  nothing  but  a  substitute.  I  was 
chagrined,  but  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  about  it.  Mr. 
Brown  was  sorry,  but  again  there  was  nothing  to  be  done 
about  it.  He  could  not  object  unless  he  wanted  to  open  the 
matter  which  he  had  resolutely  kept  closed  —  to  every- 
body but  me,  as  I  believed  —  and  Smith  was  a  thorough 
seaman,  as  far  as  there  had  been  opportunity  to  tell.  He 
started  out,  in  fact,  as  a  model,  his  only  fault  being  that 
he  was  a  little  too  much  of  a  gentleman  for  the  forecastle. 
The  men  were  suspicious  of  him,  and  held  off  at  first.  Mr. 
Baker  was  suspicious  of  him  too.  He  said  it  was  too  good 
to  be  true ;  that  a  man  with  his  history  behind  him  for  the 
past  ten  years  —  he  was  convinced  of  the  truth  of  his  in- 
ferences in  that  matter  —  would  be  as  good  as  that  only  if 
he  was  up  to  some  trick.  Smith  was  a  man  to  watch,  and 
he  proposed  to  keep  his  eye  on  him. 

I  tried  to  sound  Mr.  Brown  on  the  subject  of  Smith, 
but  met  with  no  success.  He  turned  his  quiet  smile  upon 
me.  "  He 's  a  pretty  good  shot  with  a  knife,"  he  said, 
"  is  n't  he,  Tim  ?  It  must  have  taken  a  great  deal  of  prac- 
tice. And  he  seems  to  be  a  quiet  sort  of  man,  and  a  good 
sailor.  We  have  n't  lowered  yet,  but  I  've  no  doubt  that 
he  '11  prove  as  good  in  the  boat." 

He  did.  We  got  no  whales  on  the  Seychelles  grounds, 
but  we  saw  several,  and  Mr.  Brown's  boat  was  down 
nearly  every  time.  Smith  pulled  an  oar  in  perfect  form, 
and  he  pulled  a  strong  oar,  rather  to  everybody's  surprise, 


240  SHE  BLOWS! 

for  he  was  very  thin,  and  did  not  seem  muscular.  I  suppose 
he  was  wiry,  and  I  knew  that  he  was  not  burdened  with 
any  kind  of  tissue  that  he  did  not  need.  He  was  pleasant 
to  everybody,  respectful  to  the  officers,  and  he  did  not  seem 
surly  and  disgruntled  at  having  to  pull  for  hours  after 
a  whale  which  finally  got  away.  He  soon  won  the  con- 
fidence of  the  men.  The  confidence  of  the  officers  was  not 
so  easy.  Mr.  Brown  could  feel  no  confidence,  I  was  sure, 
and  I  was  almost  equally  sure  of  Mr.  Baker.  Mr.  Snow 
was  surly  and  irritable,  and  getting  worse.  He  was  on  bad 
terms  with  his  crew,  and  seemed  determined  to  haze  Silver, 
who  had  been  subjected  to  that  process  ever  since  leaving 
Cape  Town. 

I  was  sorry  for  Silver,  but  I  could  do  nothing.  None 
of  the  men  could  do  anything  for  him.  Captain  Nelson 
could  have  stopped  it,  but  he  did  not,  for  some  reason 
or  other.  Silver  was  getting  more  and  more  desperate 
and  morose,  and  was  looking  for  a  chance  to  get  away. 
The  Seychelles  might  have  offered  him  a  chance,  but 
we  did  not  enter  a  port  there,  nor  send  a  boat  ashore. 
Even  if  his  boat  had  gone  ashore  his  chance  of  escaping 
would  have  been  slim,  for  Mr.  Snow  was  aware  that  Silver 
would  desert  if  he  got  a  chance,  and  would  have  kept  an 
eye  on  him.  For  that  matter,  none  of  Mr.  Snow's  crew 
were  to  be  trusted  now,  with  the  exception  of  Miller,  the 
boatsteerer.  All  the  officers  and  all  the  men  knew  that, 
and  Mr.  Snow's  boat  would  have  been  the  last  one  chosen 
to  go  ashore. 

We  were  often  within  sight  of  land,  about  eight  or  ten 
miles  from  it.  One  day,  after  a  morning  of  light  and  vari- 
able airs,  and  an  afternoon  of  flat  calm,  the  ship  had 
drifted  in  until  darkness  found  us  not  more  than  four  miles 
from  shore.  I  think  the  officers  were  a  little  worried  about 
it.  An  anchor  was  got  ready,  and  chain  overhauled,  but 
the  anchor  was  not  put  over.  It  was  a  hot  night,  the  only 
really  hot  night  we  had  in  that  neighborhood;  moonless, 


SILVER  DESERTS  24V 

with  light  clouds  overspreading  the  sky.  Practically  the 
whole  crew  were  on  deck  throughout  the  evening.  They 
made  rather  a  crowd  about  the  fore  part  of  the  ship,  from 
knightheads  to  try-works.  I  was  aware  of  a  subtle  stir 
among  them,  and  I  drifted  forward  to  see  what  it  meant, 
or  whether  it  meant  anything.  Mr.  Macy  passed  me,  prob- 
ably on  the  same  errand;  but  he  could  find  nothing,  and 
after  a  turn  about  the  windlass,  he  passed  me  again,  on 
his  way  back.  I  sat  down  by  the  windlass,  and  pretty  soon 
J  heard  a  hoarse  whisper. 

"  'D  he  get  away  clear?  " 

"  Ye',"  another  voice  replied  in  a  low  growl,  "  all  clear. 
Hope  the  sharks  don't  get  him.  Water  's  swarmin'  with 
'em.  Tried  to  persuade  him  to  wait,  but  he  would  n't.  Said 
they  might 's  well 's  that  fourth  mate.  He 's  to  light  a 
fire  if  he  gets  ashore  —  matches  sealed  up  with  grease 
in  a  tin.  We  're  to  watch  for  it." 

"  How  soon  ?" 

"  Dunno.  How  long  11  it  take  to  swim  four  miles  ?  Two 
hours  or  better,  I  should  think  —  if  he  makes  it  at  all." 

The  whispering  drifted  away.  Within  half  an  hour  we 
sa w  lightning  at  a  great  distance  to  the  northwest.  It  came 
nearer,  and  a  little  air  puffed  in  our  faces;  increased  to 
a  gentle  breeze.  The  thunder-storm  did  not  strike  us,  but 
the  breeze  continued  long  enough  for  us  to  get  away  from 
the  immediate  neighborhood  of  the  land.  By  the  time 
the  two  hours  were  up,  we  were  too  far  away  to  see  a  fire 
kindled  on  the  beach,  and  I  never  knew  whether  poor 
Silver  got  safely  to  shore  or  not.  I  never  saw  him  or  heard 
of  him  again. 

There  was  not  the  slightest  effort  made  to  get  Silver 
back.  Indeed,  there  was  no  chance  unless  the  ship  had  been 
delayed  for  some  days,  for  that  was  our  last  sight  of  the 
Seychelles.  We  stood  away  to  the  northward  for  the  Ara- 
bian Sea,  to  cruise  around  there  for  some  weeks,  mostly 
in  the  northern  part.    One  thing  that  Silver's  desertion 


242  SHE  BLOWS! 

did  for  me  was  to  restore  me  to  Mr.  Brown's  boat.  Smith 
was  given  Silver's  oar  in  Mr.  Snow's  boat,  whether  at  Mr. 
Brown's  request  or  not  I  did  not  know,  but  I  thought  not. 
It  was  not  like  Mr.  Brown  to  make  such  a  request,  al- 
though he  must  have  been  glad  of  the  change,  even  if 
Smith  did  pull  a  better  oar  than  I.  The  vacancy  in  Mr. 
Macy's  boat  ever  since  Silvia's  desertion  at  Cape  Town 
had  been  filled  by  the  sailmaker,  who  continued  to  fill  it 
without  much  grumbling. 

It  was  hot  up  there  in  the  Arabian  Sea,  with  the  wind 
mostly  from  the  northward  —  from  the  land  —  and 
many  days  of  calm  weather.  There  was  no  bad  weather 
to  speak  of.  We  sighted  spouts  some  half-dozen  times, 
chased  without  result  every  time  but  two,  hard  pulling  in 
a  temperature  that  made  the  sweat  pour  off  the  men  in 
rivers  —  except  Smith.  He  seemed  to  be  immune  to  any 
temperature  that  could  be  raised,  and  laughed  at  the  men 
for  sweating  so.  Mr.  Snow's  opinion  of  him  could  only  be 
guessed,  but  he  seemed  to  have  a  great  and  growing  re- 
spect for  him,  and  he  did  not  so  much  as  bat  an  eyelid  at 
him.  This  may  have  been  due  in  part  to  his  reputation  as 
a  thrower  of  a  knife;  a  reputation  which  clung  to  him  and 
which  could  not  be  ignored.  You  thought  of  it  at  once 
whenever  you  thought  of  Smith;  could  not  dissociate  the 
man  from  his  reputation. 

He  rapidly  became  a  favorite,  and  there  was  no  reason 
why  he  should  not.  He  was  a  superlatively  good  man  in  a 
boat,  especially  in  that  climate;  he  was  always  respect- 
ful, and  while  he  was  no  boot-licker,  he  never  forgot  the 
deference  which  Snow  liked.  Snow  was  a  little  man,  little 
in  nature  as  in  stature;  and  I  have  found  little  men  to  be 
generally  more  rigidly  insistent  upon  the  outward  ob- 
servance of  forms  than  bigger  men.  There  seems  to  be 
something  in  mere  size  which  tends  to  a  greater  serenity, 
and  to  a  scorn  for  such  forms.  So  Snow  was  quite  satis- 
fied with  outward  observance. 


AN  AMUSING  INCIDENT  243 

We  got  three  whales  there,  of  moderate  size.  There  was 
nothing  remarkable  about  their  capture,  and  they  were 
put  fin  out  with  no  more  trouble  than  shooting  a  steer  in 
a  stall  at  Brighton.  Two  of  them  were  alongside  at  one 
time,  and  sharks  were  so  plentiful  and  so  voracious  — 
they  are  always  that  —  that  it  was  all  we  could  do  to  save 
any  of  the  blubber  from  the  second  whale.  They  had  it 
almost  stripped  before  we  could  get  at  it,  in  spite  of  our 
best  efforts. 

Our  third  whale  was  the  cause  of  an  incident  which 
greatly  amused  everybody  on  board.  We  were  in  about 
latitude  12°  N.,  longitude  60°  E.,  nearly  in  the  track  of 
steamers  to  Bombay  from  the  east  coast  of  Africa.  Our 
try-works  was  going  full  blast,  sending  up  a  huge  column 
of  black  and  oily  smoke,  which  rose  to  a  great  height  in 
the  still  air.  It  was  very  hot  and  quite  calm,  and  the  men, 
clad  in  nothing  but  shirts  and  old  trousers  —  many  of 
them  had  dispensed  with  the  shirt  — were  sweating,  curs- 
ing, and  grumbling  at  the  foul,  sticky  smoke,  which 
choked  them  and  made  them  look  like  coal-heavers  or 
worse.  Suddenly  there  was  a  cry  of  "  Sail  ho  !  "  All, 
without  stopping  their  work,  followed  the  direction  of  the 
lookout,  and  gazed  off  to  the  southward.  Pretty  soon  the 
smoke  of  a  steamer  appeared;  then  her  stack,  and  then 
her  upper  works  rose  out  of  the  sea.  She  was  heading 
straight  for  us,  and  the  belching  smoke  from  her  stack 
showed  that  she  was  crowding  her  furnaces.  She  contin- 
ued to  come  on,  straight  for  us,  until  she  was  perhaps  four 
miles  away,  and  we  could  see  that  she  was  no  tramp,  but 
a  regular  passenger  steamer  which  ran  to  Bombay  and 
ports  farther  east.  At  that  distance  she  could  see  us 
clearly,  without  the  possibility  of  making  a  mistake  as  to 
our  character.  She  seemed  to  be  seized  with  sudden  dis- 
gust, made  as  quick  a  turn  as  she  could,  and  stood  off  on 
her  course  to  the  northeast. 

Many  of  the  crew  guffawed.  "  Thought  we  were  afire," 


244  SHE  BLOWS! 

one  man  said,  **  and  found  that  we  were  nothing  hut  a 
damned  whaler.  Could  n't  be  any  worse,"  he  added,  "  if  we 
were  afire.  That 's  the  way  I  feel  now." 

Peter  was  sorry.  "  Too  bad  that  she  made  that  mis- 
take," he  said  to  me  later.  "  Whalers  do  get  afire  some- 
times, Timmie,  and  the  smoke  would  n't  be  very  different. 
Other  ships,  too,  as  I  know  well,  though  the  smoke  of  it 's 
apt  to  be  different.  When  her  officers  see  a  good  deal  of 
smoke  again,  they  '11  probably  say  it 's  only  another 
damned  whaler,  and  hold  their  course.  There  was  a  ship  I 
sailed  in  once,  carrying  grain.  It  got  afire  somehow  and 
smouldered  for  weeks." 

He  seemed  to  have  finished.  I  was  impatient. 

"  What  did  you  do,  Peter  ?  " 

"  Do,  lad  ?  "  he  asked,  with  his  quiet  smile.  "  We  did  n't 
do  anything  but  batten  down  the  hatches  tighter 'n  ever, 
and  try  to  smother  it.  We  made  our  port,  but  the  decks 
were  too  hot  to  stand  on  with  comfort." 

"  Why  did  n't  you  put  any  water  on  the  fire?  That 
would  have  put  it  out,  would  n't  it?  " 

He  smiled  again.  "  Aye,  I  s'pose  it  would.  But  wet 
down  grain?  'T  would  have  split  her  wide  open." 

We  left  the  Arabian  Sea  with  seven  hundred  and  fifty 
barrels  of  oil  in  our  hold,  and  stood  to  the  eastward,  as 
far  as  the  Maldive  Islands.  Fifteen  months  out,  and 
seven  hundred  and  fifty  barrels,  and  it  would  take  nearly 
twenty- four  hundred  barrels  to  fill  us  up.  If  we  did  no 
better  than  that,  on  the  average,  it  meant  three  years  more 
of  it  before  we  could  be  sailing  into  Buzzards  Bay,  a  full 
ship.  But  I  did  not  know  that  I  cared  greatly. 

We  had  good  weather,  on  the  whole,  to  the  Maldives. 
There  were  a  good  many  days  of  calm  or  light  airs,  and 
we  ran  into  one  gale  that  continued  for  a  little  more  than 
a  day,  and  blew  itself  out.  It  did  not  seem  so  very  bad, 
although  it  kept  the  men  busy  and  wet.  For  the  greater 
part  of  the  time  it  was  very  pleasant  sailing,  with  the 


ALBACORE  AND  SWORDFISH       245 

wind  dead  astern  or  on  the  port  quarter,  and  not  too  hot 
if  I  could  lie  on  my  back  in  the  shadow  of  a  sail,  and  look 
up  at  the  sky  and  the  foretruck  describing  a  slow  el- 
lipse against  it.  The  heel  of  the  bowsprit  was  my  favorite 
place,  but  on  our  present  point  of  sailing  that  was  fairly 
in  the  sun  until  the  afternoon  was  half  gone,  even  with 
the  staysails  out  to  starboard ;  and  nobody  —  no  white 
man  —  could  bear  the  sun  beating  down  upon  him  long 
with  any  comfort.  I  could  stand  the  smell  of  the  ship, 
which  blew  over  me  as  I  lay  there.  Indeed,  I  liked  the 
smell  of  the  ship.  It  was  chiefly  of  oil  and  tar  and  rope 
and  general  hotness,  and  it  brought  back  vividly  to  my 
mind  the  wharves  of  New  Bedford  on  a  summer  noon. 

When  I  had  any  time  in  the  mornings  I  used  to  stand 
just  abaft  the  foremast  on  the  port  side.  It  was  wiser,  of 
course,  not  to  be  caught  loafing,  although  the  officers 
would  usually  fail  to  see  me  when  I  was  in  plain  sight. 
Standing  so,  I  gazed  off  at  the  dimpling  sea  —  on  two  oc- 
casions I  saw  a  smudge  of  smoke  on  the  horizon,  and  once 
I  saw  a  sail  —  or,  looking  down,  I  watched  the  little 
wave,  continuously  breaking,  which  our  bows  pushed 
aside.  We  often  had  schools  of  flying  fish  about  us,  and 
sometimes  I  could  see  great  numbers  of  albacore  about 
the  ship,  a  fish  not  unlike  our  horse-mackerel.  The  alba- 
core chased  the  flying  fish  —  not  into  the  air,  although 
they  would  often  leap  clear  of  the  water  —  and  caught 
them,  too,  by  being  on  hand  when  they  struck  the  water 
again.  The  albacore  had  their  enemies.  One  morning  I  no- 
ticed that  the  albacore  were  huddled  close  to  the  ship, 
swimming  in  close  ranks.  Suddenly  they  disappeared  — 
they  had  gone  to  the  other  side  of  the  hull,  I  found  —  and 
I  saw  a  swift  shadow  pass  where  they  had  been.  It  looked 
much  like  a  shark  swimming  fast,  at  a  considerable  depth. 
Then  the  albacore  were  back  again,  and  the  shadow  re- 
turned. The  albacore  scattered  and  fled,  and  the  pursuer, 
a  great  swordfish,  was  among  them,  slashing  with   his 


246  SHE  BLOWS! 

sword,  killing  three  or  four.  When  they  were  gone,  the 
swordfish  returned  from  the  pursuit,  I  suppose,  and  ate 
those  he  had  killed.  I  did  not  see  that  part  of  it.  We  saw 
swordfish  more  than  once,  big  fellows,  twelve  feet  long 
or  more,  apparently  basking  on  the  surface.  The  men 
called  them  sail-fish.  They  have  an  enormous  back  fin, 
folded  down  on  the  back  when  they  swim  fast,  but  often 
erect  above  the  water  when  they  lie  at  the  surface.  It  acts 
like  a  sail,  and  carries  them  along  at  a  very  fair  speed. 

We  were  to  see  another  phase  of  the  activities  of  the 
swordfish.  We  had  got  nearly  to  the  Maldives,  about  72° 
east  longitude,  when  the  hail  came  down  from  aloft: 
"  There  she  breaches  !  And  white  waters  ! " 

Everybody  looked.  It  was  a  lone  whale,  rather  a  small 
one  as  far  as  we  could  judge  at  that  distance,  about  three 
miles  off  on  the  weather  bow.  It  was  kicking  up  extraor- 
dinary antics,  sounding  briefly,  then  coming  up  on  a  half 
breach;  lobtailing;  running  for  a  short  distance,  when  it 
would  give  it  up,  and  begin  all  over  again. 

The  officers  watched  the  whale  while  we  stood  toward 
it.  At  last  Mr.  Baker  was  satisfied. 

"  Swordfish,"  he  said. 

The  whale  remained  nearly  in  the  same  spot  while 
we  came  up.  His  attention  was  so  completely  taken  up  by 
the  swordfish  that  we  did  not  lower  until  the  ship  was 
considerably  less  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away.  Then  we 
put  down  two  boats,  Mr.  Baker's  and  Mr.  Brown's,  which 
ran  down  under  both  sail  and  oars.  We  did  not  think  it 
necessary  to  avoid  making  a  noise,  for  the  whale  could 
not  get  away  if  he  wanted  to.  By  the  time  we  had  got 
nearly  within  darting  distance,  he  had  almost  ceased 
struggling,  and  seemed  about  ready  to  give  up  the  ghost. 
The  Prince  was  just  standing  up  and  reaching  for  his 
iron,  and  Mr.  Baker's  boat  was  approaching  from  the 
other  side.  Out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye  I  could  see  Star- 
buck  taking  his  harpoon  from  the  crotch. 


ADVENTURE  WITH  A  SWOKDF1SH    247 

Suddenly  the  Prince  gave  a  yell:  "  Swordfish  !  Look 
out  !  " 

Mr.  Brown  heaved  mightily  on  the  steering  oar,  to  lay 
the  boat  around,  but  it  was  too  late.  There  was  a  sharp 
crack,  we  felt  the  boat  rise  under  us,  and  Kane  cried  out 
in  surprise  and  pain.  I  turned  my  head  around  quickly  — 
I  had  no  business  to  do  so,  and  I  knew  it  as  soon  as  I  had 
time  to  think.  I  saw  the  point  of  the  sword  sticking  up 
beside  Kane's  thigh.  Kane  had  dropped  his  oar,  grabbed 
the  sword  point  with  both  hands,  and  was  yelling  for  the 
iron.  The  sword  had  gone  through  the  thin  planking  — 
the  garboard  strake  —  and  through  the  thwart,  and  had 
given  Kane  a  flesh  wound  in  the  thigh.  It  was  a  narrow 
escape  for  Kane,  but  he  was  not  thinking  of  that.  His 
whole  mind  was  upon  holding  the  sword  without  cutting 
his  hands  too  badly.  The  swordfish  was  thrashing  about 
viciously,  shaking  the  boat,  and  threatening  to  break  out 
the  bottom  planking.  It  all  happened  more  quickly  than 
I  can  tell  it.  The  Prince  was  alert,  and  he  reached  over, 
and  jabbed  the  harpoon  clear  through  the  fish.  Then  he 
seized  a  lance,  and  churned  it  up  and  down  through  the 
heart  of  the  fish,  turning  it  as  he  churned.  He  could  not 
reach  the  gills,  where  swordfish  are  usually  lanced.  The 
violent  struggles  of  the  swordfish  ceased,  he  quivered 
once,  and  lay  still;  but  his  sword  remained  sticking 
through  the  thwart  even  after  Kane  had  let  go  of  it,  and 
Kane's  thigh  was  bleeding  freely. 

"Badly  hurt,  Kane?"  Mr.  Brown  asked. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Kane,  hammering  on  the  end  of  the 
sword  with  his  paddle,  which  he  had  taken  from  its  place 
for  the  purpose.  "  If  I  can  only  get  this  bloody  sword 
out  —  but  it 's  stuck  tight." 

"  All  the  better,"  said  Mr.  Brown.  "  Heave  on  the  line, 
boys,  and  break  it  off." 

At  the  second  heave  a  heavy  strain  came  on  the  line, 
and  at  the  third  there  was  another  sharp  crack,  and  the 


248  SHE  BLOWS! 

sword  broke  off  at  the  nose.  The  broken  sword  remained 
sticking  through  the  planking  and  the  thwart,  and  the 
body  of  the  fish  came  up  alongside  the  boat.  It  was  a  big 
fish,  two  thirds  the  length  of  the  boat. 

While  we  were  having  it  out  with  the  swordfish,  Mr. 
Baker  had  fastened  to  the  whale,  which  was  already  dead, 
and  we  lay  there  and  waited  for  the  ship.  There  had  been 
at  least  four  swordfish  attacking  the  whale,  and  nobody 
knew  how  many  more.  The  whale,  a  small  bull  of  thirty- 
seven  barrels  as  he  afterward  tried  out,  stood  no  chance 
at  all  against  half  a  dozen  big  swordfish,  which  were  of 
a  kind  fairly  common  in  the  Indian  Ocean,  about  twice 
as  long  as  those  I  was  familiar  with.  We  got  our  prize 
on  deck,  and  ate  it  within  the  next  few  days.  The  flesh 
was  a  little  coarser  than  that  of  the  smaller  ones,  but  very 
good.  We  got  others  from  time  to  time,  as  chances  offered, 
as  long  as  we  were  in  their  waters,  and  dolphins  and  por- 
poises occasionally. 

Attacks  by  swordfish  upon  boats  are  not  uncommon. 
It  seems  likely  enough  that  they  mistake  the  hull  of  the 
boat  for  the  body  of  a  whale.  Attacks  on  the  hull  of  a 
ship,  however,  seem  to  me  to  be  due  to  accident.  The  fish 
which  are  the  common  prey  of  the  swordfish  often  hud- 
dle close  to  the  hull  of  a  vessel,  and  the  swordfish,  in  its 
attack  upon  them,  may  run  its  sword  into  the  hull,  al- 
though there  have  been  instances  where  several  swordfish 
have  made  a  concerted  attack  upon  the  hull.  We  had  a 
sword  penetrate  the  planking  of  the  Clearchus  later  on, 
before  we  had  got  out  of  the  Indian  Ocean,  which  I  was 
convinced  was  due  to  accident.  The  sword  went  cleanly 
through  the  copper,  the  sheathing,  a  three-inch  oak  plank, 
and  an  oak  rib,  and  stuck  four  inches  into  the  hold;  then 
it  broke  off.  I  saw,  many  years  ago,  in  New  Bedford,  the 
Morning  Star,  a  whaler,  with  a  sword  which  had  been 
driven  clear  through  her  keel,  eighteen  inches  of  solid 
oak,  and  the  point  of  the  sword  still  sticking  a  good 
eight  inches  beyond  it. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

From  the  point  where  the  swordfish  killed  the  whale  we 
laid  a  course  southwesterly  to  the  westward  of  Reunion. 
We  had  the  southeast  trades  all  the  way,  and  did  not  touch 
a  brace  until  we  were  between  Reunion  and  Madagascar. 
There  the  trades  left  us,  and  we  laid  a  southerly  course, 
with  shifting  winds.  We  were  getting  into  the  "  horse  lati- 
tudes," and  the  wind  was  generally  strong,  at  first  from 
the  east  and  northeast;  still  farther  south  it  held  usually 
from  the  westward,  stronger  yet,  and  gales  were  frequent. 

I  had  taken  an  unreasoning  dislike  to  Smith.  I  could 
not  account  for  it,  and  I  do  not  remember  that  I  tried  to. 
It  was  much  like  that  of  a  dog,  and  may  have  been  due  to 
the  same  cause.  His  outward  behavior  was  unexception- 
able. He  was  always  pleasant,  properly  deferential  to  the 
officers,  with  due  regard  to  each  man's  taste  in  degree 
and  kind  of  deference.  He  was  a  diplomat.  Even  to  Mr. 
Brown  his  manner  was  perfect:  silent,  brief  when  words 
were  needed,  quite  respectful  and  pleasant.  I  think  that 
Mr.  Brown  was  wondering  whether  he  had  done  Smith 
entire  justice.  But  the  men  were  less  alive  and  willing. 
Nobody  could  help  seeing  it,  although  few  would  have 
ascribed  the  change  to  Smith. 

One  day,  when  we  were  off  the  southern  end  of  Mada- 
gascar, Peter  spoke  to  me  of  it. 

"  It 's  that  Smith,"  he  said.  "  It 's  his  doing." 

"  Why  don't  you  report  it  to  the  old  man  ?  "  I  asked. 
"  Or  tell  one  of  the  officers  —  Mr.  Brown,  if  you  like." 

"  What  'd  I  report  ?  "  he  said.  "  Smith  has  n't  said  any- 
thing or  done  anything.  They  'd  ask  me  what,  and  I  'd  say 
he  laughed  at  the  men,  and  they  'd  laugh  at  me  —  and  I  'd 
fall  off  the  topsail  yardarm,  with  a  knife  in  my  back,  as 


250  SHE  BLOWS! 

like  as  not,  in  one  o'  these  gales  we'll  be  running  into. 
And  what  good  'd  that  do  to  anybody  ?  " 

"  Does  Smith  carry  a  knife?  "  I  asked  quickly. 

"  I  've  never  seen  it ;  and  he  's  one  of  the  pleasantest- 
spoken  men  I  ever  saw  —  always  at  my  elbow  when  I  'm 
at  my  scrimshawing,  admiring.  But  he  's  a  trouble-maker. 
He  '11  have  the  men  ready  for  mutiny,  the  first  thing  you 
know,  with  his  laughing  at  them,  and  making  fun  of  them, 
and  despising  them  for  doing  what  they  have  to  do.  There 
ain't  anything  else  will  do  it  so  quick  or  so  sure.  And 
there  ain't  anything  he  says  or  does  't  you  can  put  your 
finger  on.  I  've  been  to  sea  a  good  many  years,  and  I  know 
a  beach-comber  when  I  see  one  —  full  of  all  kinds  of  hard 
drink  that  would  burn  out  the  insides  of  a  better  man, 
and  filled  with  disease  and  evil.  Smith  must  have  been  a 
good  man  to  stand  it  so  long  —  and  come  out  no  worse." 

At  that  moment  Smith  passed  us,  and  Peter  began  to 
talk  of  something  else. 

When  we  reached  the  latitude  of  the  Crozets  we  began 
the  regular  cruising  programme  at  once.  We  were  far 
enough  south  to  see  ice  occasionally,  although  it  was  a 
little  late  in  the  season  for  that;  but  the  water  was  very 
cold,  and  the  wind,  almost  without  exception  while  we 
were  in  those  waters,  was  very  strong  from  the  westward, 
blowing  a  gale  about  half  the  time.  We  had  a  good  deal  of 
fog.  I  did  get  sight  of  the  Crozets  once,  distant,  dark 
mountain  peaks,  cold  and  forbidding.  We  had  about  us, 
most  of  the  time,  an  albatross  or  two,  and  gannets, 
boobies,  petrels,  and  Cape  pigeons  in  plenty.  I  suppose 
they  must  nest  on  the  islands. 

Sperm  whales  are  not  to  be  found  in  these  latitudes,  al- 
though right  whales  are. 

We  got  no  whales  here;  indeed,  our  actions  led  me  to 
think  that  the  captain  did  not  expect  any,  or  want  any. 
He  took  no  great  pains,  at  any  rate,  and  we  quartered 
the  gounds  only  once.  Then  we  wore  ship,  and  ran  down 


KERGUELEN  251 

to  leeward.  When  we  had  reached  the  easterly  limit  of 
our  cruising  ground,  we  did  not  come  about  and  beat  up, 
as  I  expected,  but  continued  to  run  to  the  eastward  be- 
fore a  gale  of  wind,  with  alternations  of  fog  and  rain, 
three  hundred  miles  farther,  more  or  less.  It  was  very 
disagreeable  weather. 

At  last  we  found  ourselves,  one  morning,  in  the  midst 
of  great  numbers  of  birds,  some  in  the  air,  and  many 
others  in  the  water:  teals,  giant  petrels,  gulls,  terns,  cor- 
morants, Cape  pigeons,  and  albatrosses;  and  an  abun- 
dance of  penguins.  The  cormorants  and  penguins  were 
new  to  me.  We  knew,  of  course,  that  we  must  be  very 
near  to  some  land,  but  the  weather  was  so  thick  that  we 
could  not  see  above  half  a  mile.  Sail  was  reduced,  and  we 
ran  cautiously.  We  could  feel  the  nearness  of  land.  Even 
I  could  do  that.  About  the  middle  of  the  day  the  fog 
lifted  somewhat,  and  became  a  thick  mist.  Through  it  we 
saw  the  mass  of  Kerguelen,  or  Desolation  Island,  its 
peaks  lost  in  the  rolling  clouds  of  fog.  A  little  later  we 
rounded  a  promontory,  and  entered  a  bay  with  many 
little  islands  dotted  over  it.  Of  course  I  compared  the 
bay  with  Buzzard's  Bay,  for  that  was  my  standard  of 
comparison  always,  especially  the  part  from  New  Bed- 
ford to  Cuttyhunk.  This  bay  seemed  not  very  different  in 
size,  but  the  shores  were  as  different  from  the  shores  of 
Buzzard's  Bay  as  they  well  could  be.  The  land  was  steep 
and  high  and  rugged,  making  the  bay  more  like  my  idea 
of  a  Norwegian  fiord,  although  I  know  the  fiords  of  Nor- 
way only  as  my  imagination  pictures  them.  On  that  first 
day  the  land  seemed  to  run  right  up  without  limit  beyond 
the  clouds,  which  hung  low.  There  were  days,  later,  when 
we  saw  the  fields  of  perpetual  snow  on  the  summits  of  the 
mountains,  and  caught  glimpses  of  the  glaciers  running 
down  the  valleys. 

There  was  fresh  water  here  in  plenty,  and  some  days 
were  spent  in  filling  our  casks  and  in  giving  the  men  a 


252  SHE  BLOWS! 

run  ashore.  There  was  no  danger  of  desertion,  and  abso- 
lutely no  chance  of  harm  of  the  sort  usually  connected 
with  shore  liberty.  Indeed,  it  was  funny  to  see  how  afraid 
the  men  were  that  the  ship  would  sail  without  them. 
They  went  about  in  clumps,  and  Smith  attached  himself 
closely  to  Peter  and  me.  It  was  good  to  feel  solid  earth 
under  our  feet  once  more. 

We  saw  here  some  fur  seals  in  the  water,  and  a  very 
few  sea-elephants,  which  had  been  left  behind  by  the  herd 
in  its  southward  migration  a  short  time  before,  much  as 
an  occasional  robin  is  left  in  the  north,  into  November 
or  even  December.  The  sea-elephant  is  a  strange  beast.  It 
has  a  snout  somewhat  prolonged,  and  as  flexible  as  an 
elephant's,  but  this  snout  or  trunk  is  short,  about  the 
length  of  a  tapir's,  I  should  guess.  I  never  measured  a 
sea-elephant,  but  I  should  think  they  were  from  ten  to 
twenty  feet  long,  and  that  they  weighed  from  one  to  three 
tons,  the  bulls  being  larger  than  the  cows.  They  look 
much  like  huge  leather  water-bottles,  filled  to  bursting 
with  water,  and  dumped  on  the  ground  by  tired  porters. 

As  we  saw  them  there,  they  were  lying  on  the  grass- 
covered  slopes,  between  the  rocks.  When  we  came  too 
near,  the  beast  would  raise  its  head,  wrinkle  its  nose,  con- 
tract its  proboscis  until  it  lay  flat  on  its  face,  and  open  its 
disgusting  mouth,  emitting  what  probably  passed,  among 
sea-elephants,  for  a  growl  or  a  hiss.  As  I  remember  them, 
the  lower  lip  was  very  full  and  split,  and  they  had  a  way 
of  thrusting  it  forward,  as  if  pouting.  I  may  be  wrong, 
for  it  is  a  long  time  to  remember  such  details,  and  I  was 
not  engaged  in  a  scientific  investigation.  I  am  sure  only 
that  the  expression  of  their  faces  was  very  disgusting 
and  expressed  the  most  utter  disgust.  No  doubt  it  repre- 
sented rage  or  alarm,  perhaps  both.  When  we  advanced 
cautiously  nearer  still,  the  beast  would  bestir  itself,  rise 
up  on  its  flippers,  and  go  lumbering  off  with  astonishing 
speed. 


KERGUELEN  CABBAGE  253 

After  one  of  these  excursions,  as  Peter  and  Smith  and 
I  were  approaching  the  shore  where  our  boat  lay,  we  saw 
a  party  of  our  men  coming  out  of  a  ravine  loaded  to  the 
gunwales  with  some  sort  of  a  plant. 

"  What 's  that  they  've  got  ?  "  asked  Smith. 

"  It 's  likely  to  be  Kerguelen  cabbage,"  Peter  an- 
swered. 

"  I  've  heard  of  it,"  said  Smith.  "  Sort  of  medicine, 
isn't  it?" 

Peter  shook  his  head.  "  I  've  never  eaten  any.  You  're 
like  to  find  out.  It  seems  early  in  the  season  to  pick 
cabbages." 

Smith  laughed,  and  started  running  to  meet  the  men 
with  the  cabbages.  He  was  just  the  build  for  a  runner, 
tall  and  lean,  and  he  ran  well  and  easily.  To  tell  the  truth, 
I  admired  the  man,  while  I  disliked  him  heartily ;  admired 
his  physical  qualities,  which  seemed  unimpaired  by  his 
mode  of  life,  while  I  disliked  his  attitude  toward  every- 
thing, and  the  kind  of  thoughts  which  seemed  to  occupy 
his  mind  —  his  mental  attributes,  or  rather  the  attributes 
of  the  heart,  as  we  are  apt  to  put  it. 

The  captain  was  glad  to  get  the  cabbages,  immature  as 
they  must  have  been,  and  they  were  fed  to  the  crew  in  the 
next  few  days.  There  was  a  sort  of  oily  essence  in  them, 
and  they  had  a  peculiar  taste;  but  it  was  not  unpleasant, 
once  you  were  used  to  it,  and  the  men  had  been  without 
green  vegetables  for  so  long  that  they  would  have  wel- 
comed anything.  The  effect  upon  their  health  was  marked. 
Whenever  we  landed  upon  Desolation  we  laid  in  a  supply 
of  cabbages,  and  as  long  as  we  were  in  that  neighborhood 
the  crew  were  in  the  best  of  condition. 
-  We  sailed  before  sunrise  the  next  morning,  and  began 
our  long  beat  to  the  westward.  The  weather  was  still  bad, 
with  half  a  gale  of  wind,  and  fog,  mist,  or  rain.  In  fact, 
the  weather  in  the  neighborhood  of  Kerguelen  is  uniformly 
bad,  as  far  as  my  experience  goes.  We  did  not  have  a  dozen 
days  of  clear  sunshine  in  all  the  time  we  were  there. 


254  SHE  BLOWS! 

Not  long  after  this  Captain  Nelson  got  into  a  towering 
rage  against  Smith  for  insubordination,  and  against  Mr. 
Snow  for  permitting  it.  Smith's  insubordination  was,  in 
itself,  a  small  matter.  He  had  failed  to  carry  out  some  or- 
der of  Mr.  Snow's,  but  had  done  something  else  instead. 
What  he  had  done  was  just  as  good  as  what  he  had  been 
ordered  to  do  —  it  may  have  been  better  —  but  on  a  ship 
orders  are  orders,  and  must  be  obeyed.  Mr.  Snow,  instead 
of  insisting  that  his  orders  be  obeyed,  had  first  stormed 
and  blustered,  and  then  weakly  pleaded  with  Smith.  As  far 
as  I  could  gather,  Smith  had  paid  no  attention  to  his 
storming,  had  smiled  at  his  blustering,  and  disregarded 
his  pleading,  but  had  gone  on  with  whatever  he  was  doing. 
He  had  done  it  very  well,  and  in  a  smart  and  seamanlike 
manner.  There  was  no  fault  to  be  found  with  him  on  that 
count,  but  no  shipmaster  can  pass  over  such  rank  and  ob- 
vious disobedience. 

I  had  never  seen  Captain  Nelson  in  a  towering  rage 
before,  and  I  witnessed  it  but  once  again.  Twice  is  once 
too  many.  When  he  was  in  such  a  rage  he  was  quiet — ■ 
ominously  quiet,  although  he  was  always  a  quiet  man;  his 
mouth  became  a  straight,  thin  line  half  hidden  by  his 
beard,  and  his  eyes  were  cold  and  hard.  He  summoned 
Smith  to  the  cabin  and  asked  him  what  he  had  to  say  for 
himself.  I  was  not  present,  but  the  quarters  on  a  whale- 
ship  are  not  large,  and  the  partitions  are  not  sound-proof. 
I  could  imagine,  easily  enough,  the  captain's  eyes  boring 
through  Smith,  and  Smith's  opaque,  china-blue  eyes  gaz- 
ing innocently  at  the  captain;  for  Smith,  in  such  an  en- 
counter, was  Captain  Nelson's  equal.  In  education  and 
breeding  he  was  superior,  and  I  had  no  doubt  that  his  ex- 
perience of  clashes  of  the  kind  was  far  greater  than  the 
captain's;  but  Captain  Nelson's  mental  processes  were 
not  devious,  as  Smith's  were.  He  knew  where  he  was  going, 
and  went  by  the  most  direct  path.  If  he  found  anything  in 
his  way  he  smashed  it.  His  intentions  were  good,  and  he 


INSUBORDINATION  OF  SMITH      255 

had  the  authority,  and  he  meant  to  maintain  it ;  this  above 
all  things. 

At  first  Smith  pretended  not  to  know  what  the  captain 
was  talking  about,  but  the  captain  cut  him  short.  Then 
he  proceeded  to  explain  why  what  he  had  done  —  I  did 
not  know  just  what  it  was  —  was  better  than  what  he 
had  been  ordered  to  do ;  that  it  was  dark,  and  they  were  in 
some  hurry,  and  it  saved  time.  Smith  was  a  thorough  sea- 
man —  he  would  have  been  good  at  anything  he  undertook 
—  and  the  seamanship  shown  in  his  explanation  impressed 
Captain  Nelson,  and  somewhat  softened  the  rebuke  which 
came.  But  it  came.  Smith  was  dismissed  with  the  warn- 
ing that  his  first  duty  was  to  obey  orders,  and  never  to 
let  it  happen  again.  I  had  no  difficulty  in  picturing  his 
respectful,  pleasant  smile,  and  his  bow,  as  he  withdrew 
with  a  "  Thank  you,  sir." 

Mr.  Snow's  interview  was  different.  I  did  not  hear  him 
say  anything.  Captain  Nelson's  low  voice  said  various 
cutting  things  very  briefly.  I  could  not  hear  all  of  it,  but 
the  gist  of  the  captain's  remarks  was  that  one  of  the  first 
duties  of  an  officer  was  to  maintain  his  authority;  that  he 
owed  it  to  the  ship,  to  his  superiors,  and  to  the  owners, 
and  that  any  officer  who  was  unable  to  do  so  would  be 
broken  —  deprived  of  his  rank.  Then  I  heard  the  murmur 
of  Mr.  Snow's  voice  as  he  asked  a  question.  Captain 
Nelson's  answer  came  like  a  bomb,  with  a  blow  of  his  fist 
upon  the  table. 

"  Shoot  him,  sir !  Shoot  him !  I  'd  do  it  in  a  second." 

Then  Mr.  Snow  faded  out  of  the  cabin. 

In  the  course  of  time  we  turned  once  more  to  leeward, 
and  ran  for  Desolation.  This  time  we  did  not  land  in  the 
great  bay  to  which  we  had  first  gone,  but  in  a  compar- 
atively small  harbor  farther  to  the  westward.  Nobody 
knew  why  we  had  come  —  at  least,  nobody  but  the  cap- 
tain and  perhaps  some  of  the  officers,  and  they  said  noth- 
ing. I  ventured  to  ask  Captain  Nelson. 


256  SHE  BL0WS1 

He  smiled  at  my  question.  "  May  be  something  worth 
while,   Tim,"   he  said  rather  gruffly.   "  Never  can  tell." 

I  said  nothing  more.  There  seemed  to  be  nothing  there 
that  we  wanted,  and  we  got  up  our  anchor,  ran  along  the 
coast  a  little  way,  and  poked  our  nose  into  the  next  harbor. 
There  are  a  great  many  of  these  natural  harbors  along 
the  coast  of  Kerguelen,  deep,  with  mountainous  sides,  ex- 
cept on  the  western  end.  The  prevailing  winds  are  west- 
erly, and  in  the  course  of  ages  the  sea  has  eaten  into  the 
shore  of  the  windward  end,  and  smoothed  it  out. 

We  called  at  a  number  of  these  fiords.  In  one  or  two 
of  them  we  anchored,  and  the  men  were  given  a  chance 
to  stretch  their  legs,  only  the  officer  in  charge  knowing 
his  errand;  into  others  we  merely  sailed,  and  then  sailed 
out  again.  At  last  we  struck  one  that  seemed  to  be  to  the 
captain's  liking,  and  a  large  party  went  ashore,  headed  by 
the  captain. 

The  captain  carried  a  Spencer  carbine,  and  so  did  Mr. 
Brown.  Mr.  Baker  preferred  a  lance.  There  were  but 
two  of  the  Spencers  available,  and  we  had  no  ammunition 
to  waste,  although  there  was  enough  for  ordinary  occa- 
sions on  a  long  voyage.  The  Spencer  was  a  short,  repeat- 
ing rifle,  rather  heavy,  but  an  extremely  handy  gun.  Its 
magazine  carried  seven  cartridges,  with  a  lead  projectile 
half  an  inch  in  diameter,  or  thereabouts,  and  the  rifle  was 
sighted  for  half  a  mile,  to  the  best  of  my  recollection.  It 
was  a  gun  which  had  done  good  work  in  the  Civil  War, 
and  there  were  a  good  many  of  them  in  New  Bedford. 

When  we  had  got  away  from  the  beach  I  was  so  glad 
to  feel  the  springy  turf  under  my  feet  that  I  ran  ahead 
at  the  top  of  my  speed,  which  was  good  enough  to  distance 
everybody,  although  several  of  the  men  were  running 
clumsily.  That  is,  I  distanced  everybody  but  Smith.  He 
could  outrun  me  easily,  and  kept  ahead,  flinging  back 
over  his  shoulder  good-natured  taunts.  Somewhat  stung 
by  his  taunts,  I  went  after  him,  and  he  led  me  off  to  one 


BERSERKER  RAGE  257 

side,  up  a  slope  covered  thickly  with  huge  boulders,  or 
perhaps  outcroppings  of  rock.  He  ran  up  the  steep  sides 
of  these  rocks  —  as  I  thought,  to  show  off  —  and  I  fol- 
lowed, struggling  up  where  he  had  leaped,  and  jumping 
from  the  tops,  as  he  had  done.  At  last  we  came  to  a  rock 
steeper  and  higher  than  any  other  that  we  had  been  over. 
Smith  leaped  lightly  up  its  side,  and  jumped  from  its  top. 
My  breath  was  gone,  and  I  was  tired,  but  I  managed  to 
get  up;  my  foot  slipped  as  I  was  about  to  jump,  and  I 
fell  instead,  striking  my  head. 

When  I  came  to  myself  Smith  was  on  the  top  of  the 
great  rock  from  which  I  had  fallen,  bending  over,  his 
hands  busy  with  a  big  round  stone  which  rested  on  the 
rock,  very  near  the  edge.  Even  in  my  dazed  condition  I 
knew  enough  to  spring  out  of  the  way,  for  the  stone  would 
have  fallen  upon  me  in  a  few  seconds  more. 

"  What  are  you  doing?"  I  cried  angrily. 

Smith  smiled  pleasantly,  and  kept  on  tugging  at  the 
stone.  "  Only  trying  to  move  this  stone.  I  was  afraid  it 
would  fall  on  you." 

My  head  was  clearing  —  and  aching.  I  was  sure  the 
stone  had  not  been  there  when  I  fell.  And  why,  if  his 
object  was  to  save  me,  had  Smith  not  dragged  me  out  of 
its  way?  It  would  have  been  easier,  and  simpler,  and  the 
natural  thing  to  do.  Was  he  trying  to  kill  me,  and  in  a 
way  which  would  make  my  death  seem  a  regrettable  acci- 
dent ?  It  was  not  to  be  borne.  A  great  rage  filled  my  heart 
as  the  question  seemed  to  answer  itself. 

Upon  landing,  I  had  provided  myself  with  a  club, 
as  a  boy  will  naturally  pick  up  any  handy  stick.  That 
club  lay  where  I  had  fallen;  but  I  staggered  to  my  feet, 
and  got  it.  In  that  moment  I  became  as  mad  as  any  Ber- 
serker. Nothing  could  hurt  me,  nothing  could  stop  me. 
I  would  kill  Smith.  I  was  no  longer  small,  but  fairly 
grown,  and  I  was  strong.  I  heaved  up  my  club,  and  I 
suppose  I  glared  at  Smith.  He  stood  there,  on  top  of  the 


258  SHE  BLOWS! 

rock,  and  laughed;  and  I  walked  around  the  rock,  look- 
ing for  a  place  to  mount,  where  it  would  be  less  like 
storming  a  citadel.  Smith  laughed  as  if  he  would  split; 
and  there  came  a  call  for  me,  and  Peter  and  Mr.  Brown 
hove  in  sight. 

I  did  not  kill  Smith.  As  I  stood  there,  breathing  hard, 
my  rage  left  me  suddenly,  as  my  rages  always  did.  Smith 
jumped  down  off  the  rock,  and  came  to  me,  smiling,  as 
though  to  say  something,  but  I  turned  away.  In  my  heart 
I  was  sure  of  him  now.  He  went  to  Mr.  Brown,  and 
said  something  about  my  fall,  and  about  its  having  put 
me  out  of  my  head  for  a  time.  Mr.  Brown  listened,  but 
made  no  reply. 

After  spending  nearly  the  whole  day  in  tramping  over 
hills,  we  went  back  to  the  ship  empty-handed.  I  did  not 
know  what  we  had  been  looking  for. 

It  was  February,  1 874,  before  we  left  Desolation  behind 
us,  and  headed  northerly  for  warmer  seas.  There  was  not  a 
man  aboard  who  was  not  glad  to  see  the  last  of  this  home 
of  gales  and  wet  and  cold. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

For  five  days  the  wind  held  from  the  westward,  and  we 
held  a  course  a  little  east  of  north.  I  saw  the  chart  every 
day,  and  sometimes  pricked  the  position  of  the  ship  on  it. 
I  took  an  occasional  observation,  and  worked  out  that 
position,  checking  up  my  observation  and  the  position 
worked  out  from  it  by  the  captain's.  I  really  think  that 
I  knew  more  of  the  mathematics  of  the  matter  than  he 
did.  In  another  respect'  Captain  Nelson  had  an  immense 
advantage.  That  was  in  dead  reckoning,  which  was  very 
important  where  we  had  clear  skies,  either  by  day  or  by 
night,  only  about  half  the  time  or  less. 

The  prickings  on  the  chart  pointed  straight  for  Am- 
sterdam Island,  with  St.  Paul  possibly  rising  above  the 
horizon  to  leeward.  Then  we  ran  into  head  winds  and  a 
gale,  which  lasted  for  two  days.  That  gale  lost  me  com- 
pletely. I  tried  dead  reckoning,  and  I  was  so  mortified 
about  it  that  I  did  not  mention  it  to  anybody.  I  spent  all 
my  spare  time,  for  the  first  day  after  we  ran  out  of  the 
bad  weather,  in  trying  to  reconcile  my  reckoning  with  the 
captain's. 

It  was  nearly  sunset  when  I  gave  it  up  finally,  and 
went  on  deck,  feeling  rather  low  in  my  mind,  for  the  ob- 
servation on  that  day  had  shown  the  official  reckoning 
to  be  only  a  few  miles  out.  I  stood  at  the  rail,  under  the 
stern  of  the  waist  boat,  and  gazed  out  moodily  over  the 
water,  cursing  myself;  for  I  had  got  into  the  way  of  the 
ship  long  before,  and  could  curse  fluently,  although  I  was 
no  expert  at  it,  as  Mr.  Baker  was. 

I  must  have  been  muttering  my  curses  aloud,  for  I 
heard  a  voice  at  my  shoulder.  It  was  Peter. 


260  SHE  BLOWS! 

"What's  gone  wrong,  lad?"  he  asked,  half  laughing. 
"  Cussing  won't  mend  it." 

I  turned  to  himk  "  I  don't  know  about  that,  Peter/'  I 
said.  "  It  relieves  my  mind.  I  feel  better  already." 

He  laughed.  "Do  you  so?  Well,  mebbe.  But,  Timmie, 
I  '11  have  something  for  you  to-morrow." 

"  Got  your  model  done,  Peter?"  I  asked  eagerly.  I  had 
been  but  little  in  the  forecastle  for  months.  I  did  not  want 
to  have  to  speak  to  Smith,  or  even  to  see  him. 

"  Mebbe  I  have,"  he  answered,  smiling.  "  Mebbe  I 
have.  I  could  be  tinkering  at  it  longer,  but  I  don't  be- 
lieve 't  would  better  it.  I  '11  give  it  to  you  to-morrow." 

"Can't  you  give  it  to  me  now,  Peter?  You  might  as 
well.  You  won't  do  anything  more  to  it." 

"  Well,"  said  Peter,  almost  coyly.  "  Well,  I  might  get 
it  now.  But  come  up  for'ard,  or  into  the  fo'c's'le.  I  ought 
not  to  be  standing  here,  gamming." 

I  hesitated.  I  was  reluctant  to  go  into  the  forecastle. 
"  I  don't  like  to,  Peter.  I  —  you  see  —  Smith  —  " 

"  Aye,"  said  Peter  soberly,  "  I  know.  Smith  —  well 
he  '11  get  the  lance  the  first  thing  he  knows.  He  's  worse 
and  worse,  as  independent  as  a  clerk;  fair  reckless.  The 
old  man  gave  him  another  dressing-down  a  few  days  ago, 
a  stiff  one.  Did  you  know  it?  " 

I  nodded.  I  knew  it,  although  I  did  not  hear  it. 

"And  he  bragged  of  it,"  Peter  went  on;  "came  back 
to  us,  and  bragged  of  it,  and  laughed  at  the  old  man  and 
the  officers.  Said  he  'd  been  threatened,  and  he  'd  show 
the  old  man  yet.  Mr.  Snow  's  afraid  of  him,  to  speak 
plainly,  and  he 's  got  the  idea  that  the  others  are 
too,  at  heart.  And  he 's  got  the  men  discontented  and 
grumbling.  It 's  my  idea  that  he  thinks  they  '11  be  ready 
soon  for  anything  he  proposes.  I  don't  know  why  the  old 
man  don't  do  something  about  it.  He  must  know." 

I  checked  the  reply  which  was  on  my  lips,  for  Smith 
was  approaching  at  that  moment.  He  always  contrived  to 


THE  MODEL  £61 

pass  when  Peter  and  I  were  talking.  He  was  suspicious, 
very  likely,  but  did  not  show  it.  He  gave  us  a  smile  and 
a  pleasant  word. 

"  Come  on,  then,"  said  Peter,  turning  to  go  forward, 
"  and  I  '11  get  it." 

I  followed,  and  waited  by  the  foremast  while  Peter 
dived  below.  He  emerged  in  a  minute,  holding  the  model 
in  his  hand. 

"  I  hope  you  '11  like  it,  lad,"  he  said,  "  and  it  may  give 
you  some  pleasure  to  look  at  it  now  and  again,  and  remind 
you  of  the  years  you  spent  in  the  old  ship." 

"Oh,  Peter!"  I  said.  "Oh,  Peter!  Like  it!"  It  was  a 
fairy  thing,  with  its  ivory  sails  so  thin  that  you  could 
almost  see  through  them,  and  the  tiny  boats  complete 
down  to  the  smallest  thing  in  them ;  every  oar,  lance,  har- 
poon, and  keg  in  its  proper  place.  There  were  even  ivory 
knives  on  the  cleats.  And  the  model  of  the  ship  itself  had 
every  rope  and  block,  and  every  ring-bolt  in  the  deck ;  and 
the  deck  showed  each  plank,  even  to  the  worn  places  in 
the  actual  deck. 

I  had  not  seen  the  model  for  some  time,  and  had  not  ex- 
pected that  it  would  be  so  faithful;  but  I  should  have 
known  Peter  better. 

He  was  smiling  with  gratification.  "  It 's  not  likely  that 
it  '11  give  you  the  pleasure  it  has  me,"  he  said.  "  I  've  been 
slow  at  it,  but  I  've  been  doing  a  thing  or  two  along  with 
it,  and  what 's  a  little  time  ?  Take  it  along,  Timmie.  I  '11 
make  you  a  case  for  it,  so  's  you  can  pack  it  in  your 
chest." 

"  Th«nk  you,  Peter,"  I  began.  "  I  '11  keep  it  always."  So 
I  have  kept  it.  The  ivory  is  now  much  yellowed  by  time, 
but  it  is  the  same  delicate,  fairy-like  thing,  and  as  perfect 
as  ever.  I  should  have  said  more,  and  was  smiling  and 
hesitating,  not  knowing  what  to  say,  when  the  watch  was 
gent  aloft  to  shorten  sail. 

"  What  'a  that  for,  Peter  ?"  I  asked  in  surprise.  Wo 


262  SHE  BLOWS! 

were  not  cruising,  and  normally  we  should  not  have  short- 
ened sail. 

"  I  don't  know,  lad.  It 's  breezing  up  a  bit,  and  it 's  like 
enough  the  old  man  's  afraid  he  '11  overrun  whatever  he  's 
aiming  for.  He  did  n't  say  anything  to  me  about  it.  You 
might  ask  him  what  he  means  by  it." 

I  laughed.  Captain  Nelson  was  on  deck,  standing  just 
forward  of  the  after  house,  where  he  had  a  clear  view  of 
all  that  went  on  aloft.  In  view  of  what  happened,  I  think 
he  had  a  definite  purpose  in  being  there. 

When  the  men  were  sent  aloft  to  handle  sail  it  was  the 
established  custom  for  the  boatsteerers  to  take  the  yard- 
arms.  The  other  men  would  lay  out  along  the  yard  in  ac- 
cordance with  their  speed  and  activity,  the  fattest  and  the 
laziest  getting  the  bunt  of  the  sail;  but  however  good  a 
man  might  be,  it  was  his  duty  to  give  way  to  the  boat- 
steerers. The  yardarms  were  the  places  of  honor,  as  the 
duties  there  called  for  the  greatest  skill  and  quickness. 
Joe  Miller  was  good,  but  he  was  neither  as  skilful  nor  as 
quick  as  Smith.  Smith  knew  it,  as  we  all  did.  He  may 
have  craved  the  chance  to  show  off  before  the  men,  or  it 
may  have  been  only  a  part  of  his  scheme  to  exalt  Smith 
and  to  bring  into  disrepute  all  in  authority ;  but  he  reached 
the  crosstrees  two  jumps  ahead  of  Miller,  and  was  on 
the  footropes  before  him. 

Miller  stopped  for  a  moment  and  ordered  Smith  to 
come  in  and  let  him  pass.  Smith  paid  no  attention  to  the 
order.  Miller  repeated  it,  but  Smith  was  already  at  the 
lee  yardarm,  and  he  looked  back  at  Miller  and  snarled 
silently  —  like  a  cat  —  fixing  him  with  those  opaque 
china-blue  eyes  of  his.  A  fight  on  a  yard  with  Smith  was 
not  to  Miller's  liking,  and  he  looked  down  on  deck,  where 
Mr.  Snow  stood.  Mr.  Snow  bravely  bellowed  out  the  or- 
der once  more,  but  Smith  paid  no  attention,  affecting  not 
to  hear.  Mr.  Snow  had  turned  away  immediately,  and 
after  a  moment's  hesitation,  Miller  went  to  work  next 


CAPTAIN  NELSON  WARNS  SMITH    263 

to  Smith.  The  other  men  on  the  yard  had  hard  work  to 
suppress  their  snickers. 

Captain  Nelson  had  observed  it,  as  he  observed  almost 
everything.  He  told  Mr.  Snow  to  send  Smith  aft. 

The  Clearchus  was  an  old  ship,  and  had  single  topsails 

—  not  divided  into  upper  and  lower  topsails,  as  they  were 
on  all  of  the  later  vessels.  It  made  an  enormous  sail, 
clumsy  and  hard  to  handle.  When  they  had  the  foretopsail 
reefed  and  the  men  had  come  down,  Smith  came  aft.  Cap- 
tain Nelson  was  waiting  for  him. 

"  My  man,"  he  said  very  sternly  and  quietly,  "  you 
have  disobeyed  orders  again.  I  warn  you  for  the  third  time 

—  and  the  last  time.  The  next  time  I  shall  act,  and  sud- 
denly. You  '11  do  well  not  to  let  the  next  time  happen.  Not 
a  word  from  you !  "  he  added,  for  Smith  was  about  to 
speak.  "  Go  forward !  " 

Smith  turned  —  smiling,  I  guessed,  when  his  back  was 
turned  to  the  captain  —  and  went  forward.  My  heart  was 
in  my  throat  for  a  few  minutes.  Anything  might  have  hap- 
pened. I  had  dim  forebodings  as  I  turned  in  that  night, 
picturing  to  myself  a  repetition  of  what  happened  on  the 
Junior,  and  I  lay  awake  for  some  time.  I  do  not  know 
that  I  was  frightened;  rather,  I  think,  it  was  the  elation 
with  which  I  anticipated  a  fight,  and  it  was  excitement 
which  kept  me  awake.  I  had  my  mind  made  up  to  stay 
awake  all  night,  but  it  takes  a  good  deal  to  keep  a  healthy 
boy  awake  all  night  when  he  is  in  the  open  air  all  day, 
with  the  wind  from  thousands  of  miles  of  ocean  blowing 
upon  him,  and  when  I  awoke  with  a  start  it  was  daylight. 

Everything  was  serene  when  T  got  on  deck.  The  wind 
was  high  from  the  southwest,  with  an  occasional  screech- 
ing gust;  but  the  sky  was  clear,  the  sun  showed  bright, 
and  the  Clearchus  slogged  along,  pitching  and  rolling. 
I  had  my  model  with  me,  for  I  was  as  anxious  to  show  it 
and  have  it  admired  as  a  child  with  a  new  toy.  Indeed, 
that  was  exactly  what  I  was. 


264  SHE  BLOWS! 

In  these  various  exhibitions  two  hours  passed.  At  the 
end  of  that  time  I  found  myself  with  Starbuck  and  the 
Prince  standing  by  the  starboard  rail,  just  forward  of  the 
gangway.  They  saw  Peter,  called  to  him,  and  he  joined  us. 
Starbuck  had  the  model  in  his  hand,  turning  it  from  side 
to  side,  and  gazing  at  it  soberly. 

"  'T  would  have  more  beauty,"  Peter  observed,  "  if 
't  was  a  model  of  the  Annie  Battles.  I  should  like  to  carve 
one  of  the  Battles." 

"  It  has  beauty  enough,"  said  Starbuck  thoughtfully. 
"  How  long  is  it  since  we  've  seen  the  Battles  ?" 

"  Nigh  on  to  a  year,"  Peter  replied,  counting  up  the 
months.  "  We  'd  almost  forgotten  her.  Most  of  the  crew  's 
clean  forgotten." 

"  I  have  n't,"  said  Starbuck.  "  I  've  always  wondered 
what  happened  on  the  Battles  —  what  happened  to  Fred 
Coffin.  I  'm  sure  enough  that  something  did." 

Peter  agreed  with  him,  and  the  Prince  grunted.  I,  for  a 
wonder,  said  nothing.  At  that  instant  the  cry  came  down 
from  the  masthead,  "  Land,  ho !  "  It  took  a  sailor  to  under- 
stand that  cry;  to  others  it  would  have  been  as  unintel- 
ligible as  a  brakeman's  cry  of  the  name  of  a  station. 

Landfall  must  have  been  expected,  for  Captain  Nelson 
was  on  deck  with  his  glass.  He  did  not  even  ask  the  usual 
question,  "  Where  away  ?"  but  went  at  once  up  the  main 
rigging  and  searched  the  horizon  on  the  lee  bow.  Pres- 
ently he  came  down  and  spoke  to  the  officer  of  the  watch. 

"  Well  as  she  goes." 

"  Well  as  she  goes,"  the  officer  repeated ;  and  repeated 
the  order  to  the  man  at  the  wheel,  who  was  within  easy 
hearing  of  the  captain. 

"  Well  as  she  goes,"  said  the  man  at  the  wheel,  and 
kept  her  on  her  course. 

"  What  is  it,  Peter?"  I  asked.  "  Amsterdam?" 

Peter  nodded.  "Yes,  lad."  We  had  passed  St.  Paul 
early  in  the  night  before.  It  would  have  been  well  out  of 
sight,  anyway. 


AMSTERDAM  ISLAND  265 

Amsterdam  soon  rose  within  sight  from  the  deck,  and 
1  went  down  and  got  my  glass  and  left  my  precious  model. 
I  found  a  secluded  spot  where  I  should  not  be  likely  to  be 
seen,  and  watched  the  island  as  we  drew  nearer.  I  saw 
steep  slopes,  densely  wooded,  rising  from  the  sea  to  a 
great  height,  but  nothing  else  was  to  be  distinguished, 
even  when  we  were  pretty  near.  At  last  we  had  the  island 
abeam,  not  over  three  miles  away.  I  had  the  glass  at  my 
eyes,  and  was  slowly  sweeping  over  the  surface,  up  and 
down,  and  to  and  fro.  Nothing  appeared  but  the  green 
of  the  tops  of  trees  or  bushes,  I  could  not  tell  which,  but 
they  looked  like  trees.  As  I  moved  the  glass  systemati- 
cally, so  that  I  could  see  the  whole  of  the  island  and  lose 
nothing,  suddenly  I  came  again  to  the  sea;  but  there  had 
seemed  to  be  something  like  a  little  spot  of  color,  and  it 
fluttered.  It  had  shown  on  the  silhouette  of  the  island, 
against  the  sky,  and  I  could  not  be  sure  of  the  color.  I  had 
passed  it  by,  and  lost  it,  before  it  had  impressed  itself  on 
my  attention;  but  I  hunted  for  it  again,  and  I  found  it  at 
last. 

The  ship  had  advanced  enough  to  show  the  green  of 
tree-tops  beyond  the  fluttering  thing  by  the  time  I  had 
found  it  again.  I  looked  a  long  time  before  I  could  make 
out  what  it  was,  but  I  finally  made  it  out.  About  halfway 
up  the  long  slope  a  tree  had  been  stripped  of  its  upper 
branches,  so  that  it  made  a  tolerable  pole.  To  this  pole 
had  been  fastened  a  sailor's  common  red  woolen  under- 
shirt; that  was  what  it  was  —  what  it  had  been.  It  had 
been  there  for  a  long  time,  for  it  showed  but  a  faint  trace 
of  its  color,  and  it  had  whipped  to  a  rag  in  the  winds. 
The  instant  I  knew  it  for  what  it  was,  my  heart  jumped 
up  into  my  throat,  and  I  jumped  up  and  raced  aft. 

Captain  Nelson  listened  to  the  brief  tale  which  I  poured 
out  hurriedly,  the  words  tumbling  over  each  other  in  my 
eagerness. 

He  nodded.  "  All  right,  Tim,"  he  said.  "  We  're  going  in 
there,  and  we  '11  see  what  it  means." 


2Q6  SHE  BLOWS! 

Amsterdam  Island  is  an  ancient  volcano.  On  the  north- 
east, or  leeward  side  of  the  island,  the  old  crater  walls 
have  crumbled  somewhat,  making  a  harbor  of  a  sort,  and 
it  was  there  we  were  bound.  Soon  after  I  spoke  to  the  cap- 
tain the  yards  were  braced  around,  and  we  changed  our 
course  to  the  eastward.  Then  the  men  were  sent  aloft  to 
take  in  sail.  It  happened  once  more  that  it  was  Smith's 
watch,  and  the  captain  watched  him  narrowly.  He  sprang 
up  the  fore  rigging  —  again  ahead  of  Miller  —  and  took 
his  station  at  the  f oretopsail  yardarm  —  the  lee  yardarm. 

Mr.  Snow  was  not  on  deck.  I  found  afterward  that  he 
had  been  suspended  from  duty. 

Captain  Nelson  was  in  the  second  of  his  cold  rages, 
—  the  last  I  ever  saw.  He  said  nothing  to  Smith,  however, 
but  he  turned  to  me. 

"  Tim,"  he  said  distinctly,  "  go  below  and  get  my  Spen- 
cer and  a  clip  of  cartridges,  and  bring  them  to  me.  Hurry." 

I  remember  very  clearly  how  mixed  my  feelings  were 
as  I  dived  into  the  cabin  and  got  down  the  captain's 
Spencer.  I  did  not  dream  that  Smith  would  not  obey  orders 
when  the  captain  had  his  rifle  in  his  hands  —  if  he  knew 
the  captain.  It  did  not  occur  to  me  that  perhaps  he  did  not 
know  the  captain. 

I  put  the  loaded  rifle  in  Captain  Nelson's  hands,  and 
stood  to  one  side. 

"  Foretopsail  yard,  there !  "  he  hailed.  "  You  Smith !  " 

Smith  looked  up. 

"  Lay  in  off  that  yard !  " 

Smith  insolently  put  his  hand  behind  his  ear,  as  if  he 
had  not  heard.  His  hearing  was  particularly  good,  and 
the  captain  knew  it. 

"  Lay  in  off  that  yard !  "  the  captain  roared.  There 
could  be  no  excuse  for  not  understanding  that. 

I  do  not  know  whether  Smith  was  simply  crazy,  or 
whether  he  thought  no  captain  would  dare  to  shoot  a  man. 
I  did  not  really  believe  it  would  come  to  that,  but  when  I 


SMITH  PAYS  THE  PENALTY        267 

«aw  Smith  deliberately  put  his  thumb  to  his  nose,  and 
wiggle  his  fingers  at  the  captain,  I  knew  that  it  was  the 
end  of  him.  And  the  captain  raised  his  rifle,  and  shot 
Smith  through  the  head.  What  else  could  he  do?  It  was  a 
flagrant  case  of  mutiny.  All  pretense  of  discipline,  all  au- 
thority would  have  been  at  an  end  if  he  had  not.  To  many 
it  may  seem  like  murder.  I  never  knew  the  rights  of  the 
matter,  but  nothing  was  ever  done  about  it. 

The  crew  had  stopped  work  for  the  moment,  to  see  how 
the  contest  was  coming  out.  When  the  shot  rang  out  — 
Spencers  did  not  ring  out;  it  was  more  like  a  blow  of  a 
sledge  —  and  through  the  smoke  I  saw  Smith  throw  up  his 
hands,  I  gasped.  As  the  body  fell  like  lead  into  the  sea,  a 
gasp  went  up  from  the  men;  then  I  heard  a  sort  of  mur- 
muring from  them.  They  were  thrown  into  consternation. 
Some  went  to  work  again  with  shaking  hands,  others 
stopped  work  entirely.  Those  on  deck  stirred  and  moved 
about  uncertainly.  I  was  reminded  of  the  ripples  which 
cross  and  recross  when  a  stone  is  thrown  into  a  corner  of 
a  dock. 

Captain  Nelson  called  to  them  sharply.  "  To  your  duty, 
men !  In  with  that  topsail !  "  He  tapped  his  rifle  as  he 
spoke. 

"  Are  n't  you  going  to  lower  a  boat  for  him  ?"  The  ques- 
tion came  from  the  group  of  men  about  the  foremast. 

"  No.  He  's  a  dead  man,  and  a  mutineer.  I  lower  no 
boat  for  him." 

The  men  on  the  yard  were  at  their  work  again,  and  the 
murmurings  quickly  died  out.  In  five  minutes  more  they 
were  all  as  busy  as  though  nothing  had  happened.  Captain 
Nelson  surprised  everybody  by  ordering  a  boat  lowered. 
Mr.  Baker  gave  the  captain  a  curious  look,  but  said  noth- 
ing, and  proceeded  to  lower. 

"Poor  devil !  "  said  the  captain,  whose  burst  of  anger 
had  exhausted  itself.  "  I  had  to  do  it.  Follow  us  in  to  an- 
chorage, Mr.  Baker,  and  if  you  find  the  body  we  '11  at- 
tend to  it." 


268  SHE  BLOWS! 

On  my  wall  above  the  model,  as  I  sit  here  now,  hangs 
Smith's  knife:  the  one  to  which  Peter  owed  his  life.  I  got 
possession  of  it  —  honestly  —  later,  and  I  kept  it  for  — 
well,  because  I  wanted  to  keep  it.  There  are  associations 
connected  with  that  knife.  The  idea  of  getting  possession 
of  it  seized  me  as  Mr.  Baker  lowered  and  dropped  astern 
to  search  for  Smith's  body. 

We  left  him  quartering  the  water  carefully  in  the 
search,  and  drifted  down  to  our  anchorage  less  than  a 
half-mile  from  a  little  beach.  Three  scarecrows  stood  upon 
that  beach,  and  watched  us  come  to  anchor.  They  were  clad 
in  rags,  and  had  ragged,  bushy  beards.  I  was  looking  at 
them  through  my  glass,  but  I  did  not  know  them,  and  did 
not  expect  to.  They  stood  quite  still  on  the  beach  waiting 
for  our  boat,  which  had  been  dropped  as  soon  as  we 
rounded  to,  and  before  the  anchor  was  let  go. 

Captain  Nelson  stood  by  the  after  house,  looking  after 
the  boat,  and  waiting  for  it  to  come  back.  It  came  at  last, 
and  the  three  men  came  easily  over  the  side.  The  first  was 
a  big  man,  as  big  as  my  father,  with  a  smile  like  his.  He 
advanced  toward  the  captain,  with  his  hand  out,  and  the 
captain  went  to  meet  him. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  Cap'n,"  he  said  in  a  big,  gentle  voice. 

"  How  are  you,  Fred  ?  "  said  Captain  Nelson,  with  a 
hearty  grip  of  his  hand.  "Kind  o'  thought  I  might  find 
you  somewhere  about." 

It  was  Captain  Coffin  of  the  Annie  Battles. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

Mr.  Baker  came  back  to  the  ship  about  a  couple  of  hours 
after  the  marooned  men  had  come  aboard.  He  had  spent 
more  than  an  hour  in  going  to  and  fro,  looking  for  Smith's 
body,  but  had  seen  no  sign  of  it,  and  had  concluded  that 
it  had  sunk  at  once.  That  seemed  strange,  for  the  lungs 
must  have  been  full  of  air,  but  nobody  gave  it  a  second 
thought  unless  some  of  the  most  disaffected  of  the  crew 
did;  none  of  them,  in  all  probability,  gave  so  much  as  a 
first  thought  to  the  fact.  I  do  not  really  doubt  that  Smith 
was  dead,  and  that  his  body  was  swaying  about  in  the  ooze 
at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  unless  the  sharks  got  it  first.  But 
I  remember  that  soon  after  I  got  home,  I  saw  an  account 
—  merely  an  item  of  a  few  lines  in  a  shipping  paper  —  of 
a  man's  having  been  taken  off  Amsterdam  Island,  and  the 
description  of  the  man  might  have  been  the  description 
of  Smith.  He  had  forgotten  who  he  was  and  how  he  got 
there,  and  he  had  been  badly  hurt,  but  he  had  managed 
to  live  alone  for  two  years  on  the  island.  However, 
whether  that  was  Smith  or  not,  he  passed  out  of  our  lives 
when  he  dropped  from  the  yard. 

Captain  Coffin  was  in  the  cabin  with  Captain  Nelson 
when  Mr.  Baker's  boat's  crew  came  over  the  side.  Mr. 
Baker  showed  no  surprise  when  he  heard  of  it,  but  Star- 
buck  did.  He  immediately  sought  out  the  two  men  who  had 
come  aboard  with  Captain  Coffin,  and  I  suppose  he  got 
their  story.  I  was  not  free,  as  I  was  wanted  to  wait  upon 
the  two  captains ;  but  that  was  no  disadvantage,  for  I  got 
the  story  as  Captain  Coffin  told  it  to  Captain  Nelson. 
They  sat  at  the  cabin  table,  leaning  back  in  their  chairs  at 
their  ease,  with  a  pitcher  of  hot  rum  and  water  between 
them.  I  remember  the  pitcher  exactly.    It  was  a  rather 


270  SHE  BLOWS! 

small  white  crockery  pitcher,  with  a  bluish  tinge,  such  as 
they  used  to  serve  water  in  at  country  hotels,  only  smaller. 
They  sat  there  quietly,  and  the  hot  rum  and  water  steamed 
gently  between  them;  and  Captain  Coffin  had  his  fingers 
clasped  loosely  about  his  glass,  but  he  drank  little,  and 
that  in  little  sips.  Between  times  he  either  gazed  content- 
edly out  of  the  cabin  window,  saying  nothing,  or  he  spoke 
briefly  of  his  experiences  in  the  Battles  or  on  Amsterdam. 
His  utterances  were  never  long  at  any  one  time,  but  al- 
ways punctuated  by  a  sip  and  a  long  look  out  of  the  win- 
dow. Captain  Nelson  said  nothing  at  all.  I  stuck  around 
rather  more  closely  than  was  necessary. 

It  was  the  old  story  of  mutiny,  but  in  this  case  for  no 
reason  whatever  except  that  the  mutineers  saw  a  good 
chance  of  taking  the  vessel.  The  ringleaders  must  have 
laid  their  plans  before  the  Battles  sailed,  Captain  Coffin 
thought,  and  have  enlisted  some  of  the  crew  in  the  scheme. 
Possibly  Wallet  knew  about  it  also.  They  met  the  Clear- 
chus  at  every  opportunity,  until  Wallet  went  aboard  of  the 
Battles,  where  he  was  at  the  time  when  Captain  Coffin 
told  the  story,  so  far  as  he  knew ;  but  he  had  turned  out  to 
be  such  a  pusillanimous  cuss  that  he  had  not  been  able  to 
maintain  himself  in  the  position  first  given  him.  The 
bothering  of  the  Clearchus  was  but  incidental;  but  the 
crew  got  so  much  fun  out  of  their  sport  with  us  —  or 
Drew  did,  which  was  more  to  the  point  —  that  they  could 
not  resist  the  temptation  to  try  it  whenever  they  had  the 
chance. 

Sam  Drew  was  the  leader  in  the  mutiny.  At  the  name 
Captain  Nelson  grunted,  and  said  that  he  knew  Sam  Drew, 
and  had  never  known  any  good  of  him.  Captain  Coffin 
nodded,  and  went  on  with  the  story.  It  had  all  happened 
before  they  got  to  Fayal.  Drew  was  a  boatsteerer.  0m'. 
morning,  as  Captain  Coffin  came  on  deck,  six  men  fell 
upon  him  at  once,  pinioning  his  hands,  his  arms  and  his 
legs,  and  throttling  him.  They  must  have  rehearsed  their 


THE  MUTINY  OF  THE  BATTLES     271 

parts  pretty  thoroughly,  for  each  man  seized  some  par- 
ticular member,  and  clung  to  it;  he  was  seized  around  the 
knees,  as  in  a  tackle  at  football  —  football  had  hardly  de- 
veloped the  tackle  at  that  time  —  and  thrown  to  the  deck, 
while  the  sixth  man  choked  him.  Captain  Coffin  is  a  tough 
customer  to  attack,  and  the  men  knew  it.  With  two  men  on 
each  arm,  and  choked  by  another,  while  the  man  who  had 
tackled  him  took  a  turn  about  his  ankles  with  the  slack  of 
the  main  sheet,  he  still  put  up  a  stiff  fight,  and  almost  got 
the  two  men  on  his  right  arm  overboard.  The  odds  were 
too  great,  however.  He  was  soon  bound  hand  and  foot, 
tied  to  a  stanchion,  gasping  for  breath. 

He  had  been  aware  of  a  struggle  going  on  forward.  He 
now  saw  Mr.  Mayhew,  his  first  mate,  beheaded  by  a  single 
stroke  of  a  spade,  and  Jim  Carter,  the  second  mate,  badly 
wounded  by  a  lance.  The  third  mate  was  not  to  be  seen, 
but  he  was  soon  brought  up  from  below.  Then  Drew  called 
a  council  of  a  few  of  his  cronies  —  a  Council  of  State, 
perhaps  —  and  spoke  briefly  to  them.  Captain  Coffin  could 
not  hear  what  he  said  to  them,  but  he  heard  plainly  what 
he  said  afterward. 

"  Over  with  him,  men,"  he  said,  indicating  the  body  of 
poor  Mayhew. 

The  body  was  unceremoniously  pitched  into  the  sea, 
and  the  head  after  it.  Then  the  men  hesitated. 

"  Over  with  him !  "  said  Drew  impatiently.  "  You  know 
what  happens  to  the  man  who  refuses  to  obey  orders." 

The  men  laid  hold  of  the  wounded  Carter  and  began 
dragging  him  to  the  rail.  He  was  too  badly  wounded  to 
resist,  but  Captain  Coffin  struggled  and  roared  at  them. 
The  men  hesitated  again,  but  Drew  smiled. 

"  Never  mind  him,"  he  said.  "  He  can't  do  anything. 
I  'm  in  command  of  this  vessel  now.  Over  with  him !  " 

They  got  Carter  up  on  the  rail,  and  pitched  him  into  the 
sea.  Then  Drew  turned  to  the  third  mate.  He,  poor  fellow, 
was  not  wounded.  He  saw  that  his  fate  was  to  be  left 


272  SHE  BLOWS! 

swimming  in  the  middle  of  the  Atlantic,  and  he  tried  to 
meet  that  fate  like  a  man.  It  was  too  much.  He  could  not ; 
and  when  Drew  offered  him  the  choice  of  joining  them  or 
of  going  over  the  side,  he  joined.  It  is  hard  to  blame  him 
for  his  choice. 

Captain  Coffin  then  saw  the  men  start  for  him;  but  it 
vas  only  to  carry  him  below  and  to  throw  him  on  his  bunk, 
2>ound  as  he  was.  He  lay  there  until  the  next  morning. 

Drew  came  to  him  about  the  middle  of  the  forenoon,  at 
just  about  four  bells,  and  sat  down  beside  him  and  said 
he  wanted  to  have  a  talk.  He  said  that,  unfortunately,  the 
third  mate  had  fallen  overboard  during  the  night.  This 
may  have  been  true,  or  he  may  have  been  distrusted  and 
have  been  thrown  overboard,  or  his  conscience  may  have 
tortured  him  so  that  he  jumped  overboard.  Captain  Coffin 
never  knew  which  was  the  truth,  but  the  fact  was  that  he 
was  no  longer  there,  and  the  vessel  was  without  a  naviga- 
tor excepting  the  captain.  Drew,  therefore,  had  a  proposi- 
tion to  make,  and  the  captain  could  take  it  or  leave  it.  It 
was  this :  that  the  captain  should  navigate,  under  guard  in 
his  cabin,  coming  out  only  at  night  for  observations.  If 
he  would  not  consent  to  that  he  would  follow  his  three 
mates. 

That  was  rather  a  hard  choice ;  but  Captain  Coffin  could 
see  no  gain  to  anybody  by  his  being  thrown  overboard, 
while,  if  he  accepted,  there  might  be  a  chance  of  getting 
his  vessel  back.  He  did  not  see  how,  and  he  had  no  plans, 
but  there  would  be  time  enough  to  make  them.  So  he  ac- 
cepted Drew's  offer,  on  condition  that  he  was  to  be  free  in 
his  cabin,  and  that  he  was  not  to  be  compelled  to  speak  to 
any  of  them.  Drew  smilingly  agreed  to  those  conditions; 
and  it  had  been  strictly  true  that  he  was  "  confined  to  his 
cabin, "  and  that  he  left  written  instructions  on  the  cabin 
table  every  morning.  Thereafter,  he  saw  nothing  except 
the  view  obtained  from  his  stateroom  port,  and  a  brief 
nightly  view  of  the  starlit  heavens  and  a  wide,  dark  sea. 


CAPTAIN  COFFIN  ENDS  HIS  STORY    273 

Drew  himself  told  him  where  they  wanted  to  go,  and  he 
did  the  rest. 

This  state  of  affairs  continued  until  he  had  navigated, 
according  to  instructions,  to  Amsterdam  Island,  and  had 
come  to  anchor  there.  He  knew  nothing  of  what  had  taken 
place  on  the  schooner  since  the  mutiny,  as  he  was  at  all 
times  closely  guarded.  Then  he  was  told  briefly  to  come 
along,  and  was  taken  ashore  with  the  two  other  men  — 
both  foremast  hands  —  and  left  there,  with  nothing  but 
what  they  had  on  their  persons.  Why  they  did  not  simply 
throw  all  three  of  them  overboard  he  could  not  imagine, 
unless  they  had  had  enough  of  murder;  and  why  he  had 
been  permitted  to  navigate  so  long,  when  they  had  a  com- 
petent navigator  in  Wallet,  he  did  not  see.  But  so  it  was. 
No  doubt  Wallet  had  been  navigator  since;  the  nine 
months  that  they  had  been  on  Amsterdam.  His  plans  —  he 
had  made  many  —  had  come  to  nothing,  but  what  could  he 
have  done,  and  why  was  the  situation  not  better  as  it  was 
than  it  would  have  been  if  he  had  allowed  himself  to  be 
thrown  overboard?  Tell  him  that. 

To  that  Captain  Nelson  growled  assent.  "  Where  'd 
you  get  your  flag?"  he  asked. 

Captain  Coffin  straightened  in  his  chair,  and  brought  his 
fist  down  on  the  table.  "  Gorry !  "  he  cried.  "  I  forgot  that 
flag.  I  '11  have  to  go  ashore  and  take  it  down.  It 's  my 
undershirt." 

"  Only  one  you  had  ?  " 

"  'Course.  'D  you  think  I  wore  two?  * 

"Cold?" 

"  Sometimes.  But  that 's  nothing,  and  it 's  over  and  done 
with." 

The  two  captains  sat  silent  for  a  while,  Captain  Coffin 
gazing  out  of  the  cabin  window. 

"  I  aimed,"  he  said  at  last,  "  to  wreck  her,  if  nothing 
better  turned  up,  when  we  got  where  there  were  some 
people,  and  my  chance  would  be  as  good  as  the  next  man's. 


274  SHE  BLOWS! 

I  guess  Drew  knew  it,  and  thought  he  'd  better  get  rid  of 
me.  I  had  the  Keelings  in  mind,  or  Sunda  Strait "  —  he 
called  it  Sunday  —  "or  some  parts  thereabouts,  if  the 
weather  turned  favorable  for  wrecking.  Pretty  bad  gales 
at  the  Keelings  in  the  season.  Well  —  that 's  all,  I  guess. 
I  'd  like  to  come  across  the  Battles  again.  Maybe  I  '11  be 
able  to  get  some  fast  little  schooner,  and  some  kind  of  a 
crew,  at  Batavia,  and  go  after  her.  I  'd  spend  my  last  cent 
on  it." 

Captain  Nelson  grunted  again.  "  I  'd  give  you  a  berth 
here  if  I  had  one.  Better  make  up  your  mind  to  stay  on 
this  ship,  Fred,  and  we  '11  see  what  turns  up.  I  '11  ship  your 
two  men.  We  're  two  men  short."  Then  he  told  about 
Smith. 

"  Good !  "  cried  Captain  Coffin.  "  Good !  Just  right,  and 
just  like  you,  Cap'n.  I  'd  have  given  something  to  have 
the  chance  on  the  Battles,  but  there  was  never  a  suspicion. 
Drew  was  too  smart.  He  's  a  damned  smart  man." 

"  H'm!  "  Captain  Nelson  was  noncommittal.  "  Now  that 
we  're  here,  we  may  as  well  lay  in  some  wood.  I  '11  have 
the  men  take  down  that  shirt  of  yours." 

Then  he  turned  to  me,  and  told  me  that  I  might  as  well 
go  on  deck,  for  they  would  not  need  my  services  right 
away.  I  took  the  hint,  and  went.  After  all,  stories  of  mu- 
tinies are  much  alike;  they  differ  only  in  details.  But  the 
two  captains  sat  there  a  couple  of  hours  longer,  with  the 
fresh  pitcher  of  hot  rum  and  water  which  I  had  brought 
just  before  I  came  up. 

Something  turned  up  sooner  than  they  could  have  ex- 
pected. We  were  only  a  day  at  Amsterdam  laying  in  wood, 
for  we  did  not  really  need  wood.  Our  anchor  was  up  the 
next  afternoon  and  we  sailed  to  the  northeast,  bound  either 
to  Sunda  Strait,  or  for  a  cruise  along  the  south  coast  of 
Java,  as  circumstances  might  determine.  We  had  been  out 
about  a  week,  and  were  getting  into  more  comfortable 
weather,  when  I  was  awakened,  very  early  one  morning, 


MR.  SNOW  GOES  INSANE  275 

by  a  rumpus  on  deck.  There  were  shouts,  a  tramping  of 
feet,  and  a  heavy  report,  like  that  of  a  Spencer  gun.  My 
heart  jumped  up  into  my  throat,  I  was  completely  awake, 
there  was  that  prickling  sensation  at  the  roots  of  my  hair, 
my  breath  came  short  and  hard,  and  I  found  that  I  was 
smiling.  It  was  no  use,  I  was  always  taken  that  way 
when  any  kind  of  a  fight  promised.  I  could  no  more  help 
it  than  I  could  help  breathing;  not  so  easily.  I  scrambled 
into  some  clothes  and  ran  up  the  ladder. 

I  came  out  into  the  gray,  melancholy  half-light  of  early 
dawn.  I  was  conscious  of  it  and  of  the  whispering  sea 
about  us.  If  I  had  ever  contemplated  suicide,  I  am  sure  it 
would  have  been  at  just  that  time  of  day,  for  that  is  the 
time  when  a  man's  fortitude  is  at  the  lowest  ebb,  every- 
thing looks  black,  and  the  future  holds  no  promise.  The 
darkest  night  is  not  nearly  so  bad.  That  gray  loneliness  of 
early  dawn  is  an  equally  fitting  time  to  choose  for  going 
insane,  and  Mr.  Snow  seemed  to  have  chosen  it  for  that 
purpose.  He  was  standing  in  the  same  spot  that  Captain 
Nelson  occupied  when  he  dropped  Smith  from  the  yard, 
and  was  living  over  that  experience,  with  himself  in  the 
captain's  place.  A  Spencer  was  in  his  right  hand,  the  bar- 
rel in  the  hollow  of  his  left  arm,  and  a  long,  sharp  lance 
leaned  against  the  after  house.  Now  and  then  he  bellowed 
an  order  at  an  imaginary  man  on  the  yard,  and  that  was 
apparently  what  he  had  shot  at.  Spencer  bullets,  however, 
are  not  imaginary,  and  nothing  was  to  be  seen  of  the  men 
of  the  watch.  They  had  run  forward  and  taken  refuge  be- 
hind the  foremast,  the  try-works,  and  anything  that  offered 
shelter.  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  one  poor  fellow  who  had 
taken  refuge  behind  the  mainmast,  almost  directly  in 
front  of  Mr.  Snow,  and  who  was  trying  his  level  best  to 
make  himself  small.  Mr.  Snow  did  not  notice  him ;  did  not 
see  him.  All  his  attention  was  directed  to  that  foretopsail 
yard. 

Less  than  half  a  minute  had  gone  since  the  report  of 


276  SHE  BLOWS! 

the  Spencer  had  startled  me  into  full  wakefulness.  I  had 
my  trousers  on,  but  I  had  not  stopped  to  button  them, 
trusting  to  one  suspender  to  hold  them  in  place.  I  had  come 
up  the  booby-hatch,  a  very  few  feet  behind  Mr.  Snow,  and 
although  I  was  barefoot,  I  must  have  made  considerable 
noise;  but  he  was  so  taken  up  with  his  bellowing  and  flour- 
ishing that  he  did  not  hear  me.  I  think  I  might  have  come 
through  the  deck  at  his  very  feet  and  run  into  him  without 
his  being  aware  of  it.  I  heard  quiet  stirrings  on  the  cabin 
ladder  and  down  the  booby-hatch,  and  I  knew  that  the 
mates  and  boatsteerers  would  be  on  hand  in  a  few  sec- 
onds ;  and  noises  in  the  cabin  told  me  that  Captain  Nelson 
would  not  be  far  behind.  Mr.  Snow's  attention  had  at  last 
been  attracted  by  a  movement  behind  the  mainmast  — 
the  man  there  was  so  scared  that  he  could  not  keep  still  — 
and  he  raised  his  rifle.  It  was  like  shooting  point-blank  at 
the  side  of  a  barn.  He  might  easily  hit  the  man,  who  had 
vnot  sense  enough  to  keep  behind  the  mast,  but  kept  pop- 
ping out.  I  was  upon  him  in  one  jump,  had  him  about  the 
body  from  behind,  and  was  grabbing  for  the  rifle. 

I  was  much  taller  and  stronger  than  when  I  had  tackled 
Lupo,  and  Mr.  Snow  was  not  the  man  that  Lupo  was. 
Still,  I  was  not  prepared  for  the  strength  that  he  showed. 
Although  I  succeeded  in  deflecting  the  rifle,  he  managed 
to  discharge  it,  catching  the  flesh  of  my  thumb  partly 
under  the  hammer,  making  a  wound  that  bothered  me  for 
weeks.  The  bullet  ploughed  up  the  deck.  Then  another 
pair  of  arms  enveloped  him.  It  was  Mr.  Macy,  and  in  his 
arms  Mr.  Snow  was  helpless.  Then  the  boatsteerers  and 
the  other  mates  appeared,  with  the  captain  just  behind 
them,  and  I  let  go  my  hold  and  fell  back. 

Mr.  Snow  was  violently  insane,  there  was  no  doubt 
about  that.  He  struggled,  shouted,  and  foamed  at  the 
mouth.  They  took  him  below,  and  he  was  kept  locked  in 
his  cabin  for  two  days,  but  he  made  such  a  row  there  that 
nobody  could  get  much  sleep.  On  the  second  day  he  sue- 


MR.  SNOW  IN  IRONS  277 

ceeded  in  setting  fire  to  his  mattress,  which  made  a  great 
smoke  and  almost  smothered  him.  The  fire  was  put  out  and 
he  was  resuscitated;  but  Captain  Nelson  was  forced,  for 
the  safety  of  the  ship,  to  put  him  in  irons  and  remove  him 
from  the  cabin.  I  used  to  hear  his  cries  and  shouts  for 
days,  issuing  from  the  bowels  of  the  Clearchus  somewhere. 
Finally  they  stopped,  and  I  was  afraid  that  he  had  died; 
but  the  steward  told  me  that  he  was  only  sulking,  and 
would  not  say  a  word,  or  take  any  notice  of  him  when  he 
carried  food  to  him.  I  did  not  blame  Mr.  Snow  for  that, 
and  thought  it  might  be  a  symptom  of  returning  sanity. 
The  steward  was  a  thoroughly  obnoxious  little  pest  and 
had  a  special  animosity  toward  Mr.  Snow  for  continuing 
to  live  and  adding  to  his  work.  Poor  fellow!  I  refer  to 
Mr.  Snow,  and  not  to  the  steward.  What  an  unhappy  time 
he  must  have  had  ever  since  we  left  Cape  Town! 

We  were  standing  to  the  northeast,  for  the  Keeling 
Islands,  hoping  to  find  some  homeward-bound  whaler 
there  to  which  we  could  transfer  our  crazy  man.  Imagine 
having  such  a  passenger  foisted  upon  you;  but  nobody 
seemed  to  have  any  doubt  that  any  whaler  going  home 
would  take  him.  It  seemed  to  be  his  only  chance  —  and 
ours.  It  was  wearing  upon  the  nerves  of  every  one  in  the 
ship  to  hear  the  noises  that  he  made,  and  then  to  have  the 
noises  stop.  I  used  to  listen  for  them,  and  Peter  said  that 
the  men  used  to;  and  the  men  were  highly  superstitious, 
as  ignorant  sailors  are  apt  to  be.  I  have  no  shame  in  ac- 
knowledging that  I  was  superstitious  myself.  The  men 
maintained  that  nothing  but  bad  luck  would  come  from  it, 
and  I  found  myself  of  their  opinion,  although  I  knew  well 
enough  that  it  was  foolish  and  had  no  sense  or  reason  in 
it,  unless  the  very  belief  of  the  men  should  bring  on  the 
thing  they  feared.  Nevertheless,  I  was  in  suspense  — 
waiting  for  it. 

The  bad  luck  came  soon  enough.  We  had  got  about  half- 
way to  the  Kcelings,  and  had  not  seen  a  single  spout  That 


278  SHE  BLOWS! 

did  not  bother  Captain  Nelson,  for  I  have  no  reason  to 
think  he  was  expecting  to  see  any;  but  one  afternoon  we 
raised  a  solitary  spout  to  leeward.  We  had  struck  the 
southeast  trades  two  days  before,  and  were  then  bowling 
along  merrily,  the  ship  making  a  great  fuss,  but  not  so 
much  headway  as  anybody  would  be  led  to  think  who  did 
not  know  her  ways.  The  wind  was  strong  from  a  little 
south  of  east,  which  made  it  as  nearly  close-hauled  as  was 
comfortable  for  the  Clearchus,  and  it  was  typical  trade- 
wind  weather.  The  whale  was  about  three  or  four  miles 
off  the  lee  bow  when  we  first  saw  his  spout. 

We  did  not  lower  at  once;  indeed,  there  was  doubt 
whether  we  should  lower  at  all.  I  saw  Captain  Nelson 
gazing  at  the  spout  for  a  long  time,  evidently  in  doubt 
what  to  do.  Obviously,  he  hated  to  lose  the  time,  for  he 
was  anxious  to  get  Mr.  Snow  started  home  as  soon  as 
possible,  and  any  delay  might  mean  that  he  would  miss  the 
ship  which  otherwise  he  would  catch.  I  could  almost  see 
the  arguments  which  passed  through  his  mind.  Captain 
Nelson  was  a  tender-hearted  man  under  his  crust,  and  I 
believe  his  anxiety  was  entirely  for  Mr.  Snow,  and  that  he 
was  thinking  of  getting  him  started  home  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible rather  than  contemplating  the  relief  it  would  be  to 
get  rid  of  him.  But  obviously,  too,  he  was  out  for  whales, 
and  there  was  one  within  easy  reach ;  "  she  blows  and  she 
breaches,  and  sparm  at  that,"  to  quote  the  immortal  classic 
of  Captain  Simmons.  "  He  is  sceerce,  and  ile  is  money." 
That  settled  it.  Captain  Nelson  began  to  move  slowly  to 
and  fro,  and  I  knew  that  we  should  lower  as  soon  as  we 
got  into  a  favorable  position. 

Soon  after  Mr.  Snow's  collapse  Captain  Coffin  had  been 
offered  the  fourth  mate's  berth  until  there  should  be  some- 
thing better.  He  took  it  at  once,  like  the  good  sport  he  was. 
The  two  men  who  came  with  him  relieved  the  sailmaker 
and  me,  so  that  I  was  now  nothing  but  cabin  boy.  I  did  not 


A  BLIND  WHALE  279 

like  being  unceremoniously  pushed  out  of  my  boat  in  that 
way,  but  there  was  nothing  to  do  or  say  about  it,  so  I  held 
my  peace,  and  tried  to  be  contented. 

Mr.  Baker  and  Captain  Coffin  lowered  —  I  suppose  I 
should  not  speak  of  him  as  Captain  Coffin  now,  as  he  was 
temporarily  fourth  mate,  and  plain  Mr.  Coffin.  The  whale 
was  travelling  about  as  fast  as  the  ship,  and  had  not  soun- 
ded since  we  had  sighted  him.  There  was  something  a  little 
odd  about  the  way  he  travelled,  but  it  was  nothing  very  ex- 
traordinary, and  it  was  only  after  we  had  been  watching 
him  for  a  good  while  that  it  was  forced  upon  our  atten- 
tion. It  turned  out  that  the  whale  was  blind.  Mr.  Tilton 
was  the  first  man  to  say  what  was  the  matter,  and  it 
dawned  upon  him  only  when  he  saw  how  the  whale  acted 
while  the  boats  were  pulling  up  to  strike. 

They  approached  from  the  rear,  where  the  whale  could 
not  have  seen  them  in  any  case.  Mr.  Baker  was  to  star- 
board of  him,  and  about  a  boat's  length  ahead  of  Mr. 
Coffin,  who  was  to  port.  The  wash  of  the  seas  under  the 
strong  trade  wind  was  enough  to  nearly  drown  the  noise 
of  the  oars,  and  the  men  were  pulling  hard.  Mr.  Baker  was 
just  drawing  past  the  flukes,  when  the  whale  seemed  to 
feel  that  everything  was  not  as  it  should  be.  The  slow, 
steady,  pumping  motion  of  the  flukes  ceased,  and  the  great 
flukes  moved  from  side  to  side,  feeling,  as  delicately  and 
gently  as  the  antennae  of  an  insect,  for  whatever  they 
might  find.  Mr.  Baker  pulled  ahead,  and  avoided  them. 
Mr.  Coffin  tried  to  avoid  them,  but  could  not,  for  they 
were  just  abeam  of  him,  and  the  men  felt  the  gentle  touch 
upon  the  keel  amidships.  At  that  moment  Starbuck  planted 
his  first  iron  near  the  side  fin,  and  at  that  touch  upon  the 
keel,  Miller,  knowing  instantly  that  something  would 
happen,  hastily  seized  a  harpoon,  and  darted.  The  harpoon 
struck  just  under  the  hump.  There  was  no  chance  for  a 
second  iron,  for  the  flukes  lifted  convulsively,  staving  in 


280  SHE  BLOWS! 

two  planks,  and  rolling  the  boat  over;  then  came  down  in 
a  smashing  blow  upon  the  water,  and  the  whale  started 
to  run. 

The  men  of  Captain  Coffin's  boat  were  swimming  about 
the  wreck.  I  was  watching  through  my  old  glass,  and 
counted  heads.  There  was  one  missing,  although  I  could 
not  tell,  at  that  distance,  who  it  was.  Mr.  Baker  was  fast 
disappearing,  to  the  eastward,  in  the  foaming  wake  of  the 
whale.  Still  watching,  I  thought  I  saw  a  head  suddenly  bob 
up  in  the  sea  behind  the  whale.  I  lost  it,  and,  after  a  long 
search,  I  found  it  again.  The  man,  whoever  he  was,  seemed 
to  be  having  difficulty  in  swimming.  I  dropped  the  glass 
to  the  end  of  its  lanyard,  where  it  swung  and  bumped 
against  my  chest  at  every  jump,  while  I  ran  to  tell  Captain 
Nelson.  Mr.  Brown  lowered  at  once,  and  went  after  him. 

Mr.  Brown  was  soon  back  with  Captain  Coffin,  who  had 
torn  a  tendon  in  his  ankle.  He  had  been  caught  under  his 
boat  when  it  rolled  over,  and  a  tub  of  line  had  been  emp- 
tied over  him,  entangling  him  completely.  The  coils  of  line 
were  wound  about  his  body,  arms,  and  legs,  and  the  whale 
was  running.  He  fought  desperately  to  get  clear  of  the 
line,  and  thought  he  was  clear,  when  a  bight  of  the  line 
tightened  about  his  ankle.  He  was  jerked  under  water 
when  the  line  came  taut,  but  managed  to  get  hold  of  the 
line,  pull  himself  forward,  and  cut.  Captain  Coffin  was  a 
powerful  man,  never  lost  his  head,  and  was  resourceful; 
but  most  whalemen  who  survive  —  and  many  who  do  not 
—  are  that.  He  was  helped  into  the  cabin,  and  spent  most 
of  the  next  three  weeks  with  his  bandaged  ankle  up  on  the 
lounge  there,  fretting  because  he  could  not  return  to  his 
duty. 

Mr.  Brown  had  made  another  trip,  and  brought  back 
the  stove  boat  and  its  crew.  That  was  a  job  for  Peter. 
Mr.  Baker  had  gone  off  dead  to  windward.  It  was  almost 
hopeless  to  stand  after  him  in  the  Clearchus,  but  we  did 
so,  making  short  tacks  so  that  he  might  not  lose  us.  He 


^w  / 

\       * 

torn 

r\ 

THE  MATE 


THE  WHALE  IS  LOST  281 

came  bade  about  dark,  rather  crestfallen,  without  his 
whale.  After  running  ten  or  twelve  miles,  the  whale  had 
sounded  out  all  his  line.  He  waited  more  than  an  hour  for 
the  whale  to  come  up,  in  the  hope  that  he  could,  at  least, 
get  hold  of  the  line  again;  but  nothing  had  been  seen  of 
the  whale.  He  must  have  run  for  miles  under  water. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

We  reached  the  Keelings  late  in  April,  having  taken  no 
whales  since  leaving  Desolation.  Captain  Nelson  found  that 
the  Bartholomew  Gosnold  had  left  a  few  hours  before  we 
arrived.  This  was  unfortunate.  I  have  no  doubt  that  the 
fact  made  the  captain  regret  more  than  ever  that  he  had 
stopped  to  lower  for  the  blind  whale.  He  had  had  a  boat 
stove,  Captain  Coffin  had  been  laid  up,  he  had  missed  the 
Gosnold,  and  he  did  not  get  the  whale.  Still,  probably  he 
would  do  the  same  thing  again  under  the  same  circum- 
stances, and  probably  he  ought  to.  I  was  especially  sorry 
that  we  had  missed  the  Gosnold,  for  she  was  going  directly 
home  and  would  have  taken  letters.  It  was  some  months 
since  I  had  written  home,  and  I  had  a  large  instalment 
of  my  journal  ready  to  send;  but  I  could  send  it  from 
Batavia. 

For  the  few  days  that  we  were  at  the  Keelings  we  had 
exceptionally  good  weather,  and  we  visited  North  Keeling 
Island,  which  is  not  often  possible.  The  island  is  unin- 
habited except  by  birds  and  some  other  things,  among 
which  is  a  monstrous  land  crab  which  climbs  trees  and 
feeds  on  coconuts.  Between  the  coconut  palms  and  iron- 
wood  trees  there  is  a  dense  forest  covering  the  island, 
which  is  only  about  a  mile  long.  We  saw  literally  myriads 
of  frigate-birds,  boobies,  terns,  and  other  sea-birds,  all  of 
which  nest  there.  I  was  especially  interested  in  the  frigate- 
birds  and  their  nests.  The  birds  would  rise  from  their  nests 
and  sail  in  spirals  to  great  heights,  apparently  very  angry, 
inflating  the  red  pouches  on  their  necks  as  they  rose.  I  was 
for  seeing  whether  I  could  not  find  a  few  good  eggs  for 
my  collection,  but  Peter  dissuaded  me.  He  thought  that  the 
birds  would  not  take  it  well.  As  for  my  collection  of  eggs, 


EGG-COLLECTING  283 

I  had  not  begun  it  yet,  but  I  thought  that  frigate-birds' 
eggs  would  be  a  good  thing  to  begin  with. 

I  still  think  so,  and  regret  my  failure  to  get  an  egg  or 
two.  No  doubt,  if  I  had  got  them,  they  would  now  be 
adorning  the  loft  of  my  barn,  where  various  collections  of 
my  son's  ornament  the  walls,  in  various  stages  of  des- 
iccation or  decay.  There  are  a  collection  of  eggs,  some  of 
them  rare;  a  collection  of  seaweeds  and  mosses,  dried  and 
mounted  on  cards,  and  lettered  very  beautifully;  shells  of 
crabs,  likewise  mounted  on  cards,  among  which  are  two  or 
three  shells  of  young  horseshoe  crabs  about  an  inch  or  two 
long,  very  delicate  and  perfect ;  a  collection  of  wild-flowers, 
dried,  pressed,  and  mounted;  a  collection  of  lichens;  and 
collections  of  various  other  kinds,  which  I  forget  at  this 
moment.  These  collections  represent  different  phases  in 
my  son's  development  which  he  very  promptly  forgot 
as  soon  as  they  were  past,  but  each  of  which  was  absorbing 
while  it  lasted.  I  do  not  look  at  them  often,  but  I  would 
not  have  them  touched,  and  neither  would  Ann  McKim. 

I  should  have  been  glad  to  stay  longer,  but  the  voyage 
was  neither  for  my  health,  which  was  disgustingly  rugged, 
nor  for  my  pleasure,  and  Captain  Nelson  sailed  for  Sunda 
Strait  without  consulting  me.  It  is  not  a  long  stretch  from 
the  Keelings  to  the  Strait,  but  we  were  delayed  and 
turned  aside  by  whales,  of  which  we  saved  two,  both  of 
which  lay  fin  out  within  an  hour  from  lowering.  They  were 
fairly  large,  and  made  more  than  one  hundred  and  fifty 
barrels,  and  raised  our  stock  of  sperm  oil  on  board  to 
about  twelve  hundred  barrels. 

We  finished  our  trying-out  late  one  afternoon,  and  kept 
off  for  Sunda  Strait,  making  a  beginning  at  our  scrubbing 
of  the  ship.  We  were  directly  in  the  track  of  sailing  vessels 
bound  through  the  Strait  to  China  and  Japan,  and  very 
nearly  in  the  track  of  steamers  both  ways.  Sunda  Strait  is 
the  narrow  throat  of  the  highway  between  the  Indian 
Ocean  and  all  the  seas  and  ports  to  the  east,  and  it  is  al- 
most busy  enough  to  need  a  traffic  policeman. 


284  SHE  BLOWS! 

That  night  was  a  very  dark  night;  pitch-black,  moonless 
and  clouded  over,  so  that  there  was  not  even  the  little 
light  from  the  stars.  The  blackness  of  the  night  seemed 
thick,  oppressive.  I  could  not  catch  even  a  gleam  from  the 
water,  and  it  is  very  rarely  the  case  that  you  cannot  see 
the  water  now  and  then,  even  on  a  dark  night.  It  seems 
much  lighter  at  sea  than  it  does  on  shore.  Everybody  aft 
had  turned  in,  and  there  was  no  light  showing  from  the 
stern  ports,  for  I  looked  over  the  stern  to  see.  I  could 
not  bring  myself  to  turn  in,  for  I  was  half  afraid,  to  tell 
the  whole  truth,  although  I  do  not  know  what  I  was  afraid 
of.  The  thick  blackness  of  the  night  seemed  ominous. 

I  stood  at  the  stern,  looking  out  over  the  wake  —  which 
glowed  dully  with  swirling  phosphorescence  —  for  a  long 
time.  Then  I  wandered  forward,  and  stood  under  the  fore 
rigging,  on  the  weather  side.  The  wind  was  fresh,  and  I 
heard  the  noise  the  Clearchus  made  going  through  the 
water,  with  an  occasional  muffled  cluck  of  a  block,  the 
regular  slatting  of  some  slack  rope  against  a  sail,  or  per- 
haps the  reef  points.  I  looked  along  the  deck,  or  where 
the  deck  ought  to  be,  and  I  could  see  nothing.  I  felt  as  I 
used  to  feel  on  the  infrequent  occasions  when  my  mother 
had  shut  me  in  a  closet,  except  that  there  was  no  parox- 
ysm of  temper  to  make  me  forget  the  darkness,  and  that 
there  was  a  feeling  of  utter  loneliness,  as  though  I  were 
perched  on  nothing,  all  alone  in  the  midst  of  a  sea  of 
blackness.  I  became  almost  afraid  to  move  my  feet  for 
fear  that  there  would  be  nothing  under  them.  When  Peter 
and  the  Prince  spoke  to  me  gently,  at  my  shoulder,  I  very 
nearly  cried  out. 

If  I  had  not  heard  the  Prince  I  should  not  have  known 
he  was  there.  I  could  see  no  sign  of  him.  Peter's  face  was 
but  a  dim  blur,  and  nothing  of  his  body  was  visible.  Your 
true  whaleman  does  not  go  about  his  business  clad  in  a 
natty  white  duck  suit,  like  a  navy  sailorman,  and  with 
a  teacup  of  a  white  hat  perched  upon  his  head;    but  he 


A  BLACK  NIGHT  285 

wears  old  civilian  clothes,  which  look  —  by  daylight  — 
as  though  they  had  been  boiled  in  oil,  and  then,  while  still 
wet  with  it,  had  been  dragged  through  all  the  dust  of  the 
wharves.  Such  clothes  make  him  practically  invisible  on 
an  ordinarily  dark  night. 

In  a  very  low  voice  that  was  scarcely  more  than  a 
whisper,  Peter  remarked  that  it  was  a  black  night.  I  agreed 
with  him  enthusiastically,  and  the  Prince  grunted  his  as- 
sent. We  stood  there  by  the  fore  rigging  for  some  time  in 
silence.  None  of  us  seemed  to  feel  like  talking,  or  to  know 
what  to  say. 

"  You  can  hardly  see  the  fo'c's'le  lamp,"  Peter  observed 
at  last.  "  It  looks  as  if  it  was  in  a  thick  cloud  of  smoke. 
It  won't  burn  bright,  whatever  we  do  to  it,  and  there  's 
some  that  say  there  's  a  sort  of  halo  around  the  flame, 
like  the  halos  they  put  around  the  heads  of  their  saints  — 
like  a  sort  of  sun-dog.  It  may  be  so,  though  I  did  n't  see 
it.  Something  's  going  to  happen,  I  'm  thinking.  I  never 
saw  a  darker  night." 

I  tried  to  reply  lightly,  but  I  could  not,  and  did  not 
reply  at  all.  The  Prince  said  nothing,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
they  had  faded  away  into  the  darkness.  I  went  back  to  the 
stern,  and  stood  there  for  a  long  time,  peering  out,  but  see- 
ing nothing.  The  silent  man  at  the  wheel  was  some  com- 
fort, and  once  in  a  while  Mr.  Tilton,  who  had  that 
watch,  looked  in.  There  was  the  faint  bubbling  of  the 
wake,  and  the  same  noises  as  before,  but  largely  cut  off 
by  the  roof  of  the  house.  I  had  glanced  at  the  compass, 
which  was  swung  just  inside  the  cabin  skylight  instead  of 
in  a  binnacle,  and  had  seen  that  we  were  heading  due 
north.  That  was  not  sailing  very  close,  but  the  Clearchus 
really  made  more  if  she  was  not  held  too  close  to  the  wind. 
I  was  getting  drowsy  in  spite  of  my  uneasiness,  and  was 
just  making  up  my  mind  to  turn  in.  In  fact  I  had  taken 
my  elbows  from  the  taffrail,  on  which  I  had  been  leaning, 
and  raised  my  eyes. 


286  SHE  BLOWS! 

Suddenly,  without  my  being  conscious  of  it,  there  broke 
from  my  throat  a  yell  that  would  have  waked  the  dead; 
and  there  loomed  out  of  the  blackness,  just  at  our  stern, 
the  flying  jibboom  of  a  ship.  It  was  high  over  my  head, 
and  I  could  just  dimly  make  out  jibs  rising  from  it  which 
seemed  to  reach  to  the  heavens.  I  had  no  time  to  think, 
but  I  know  I  had  the  impression  that  our  stern  was 
sure  to  be  cut  off,  and  I  yelled  again.  If  I  had  taken  time 
to  think  I  should  have  realized  that  that  other  ship  was 
bound  for  the  Strait,  as  we  were,  but  sailing  a  couple  of 
points  closer;  and  that,  even  if  she  was  going  three  knots 
to  our  one,  our  chances  of  escape  were  good.  Hindsight 
is  easy;  and  when  I  saw  the  end  of  the  spritsail  yard  and 
some  stays  within  reach  of  my  hand  I  grabbed  them — > 
probably  the  flying- jib  guys  —  and  hauled  myself  up  and 
landed  in  her  nettings.  I  was  still  there  when  the  two 
vessels  came  together.  The  yards  of  the  ship  I  was  on  were 
braced  well  around,  or  the  damage  would  have  been 
greater.  As  it  was,  the  Clearchus  had  her  spanker  carried 
away,  and  a  spare  boat  brushed  off  the  roof  of  her  after 
house,  and  she  was  given  a  gentle  push  on  her  course. 
Then  she  vanished  quickly  into  the  night. 

The  strange  ship  had  apparently  put  her  helm  down 
as  soon  as  it  was  known  that  there  was  danger  of  a  col- 
lision, but  was  just  beginning  to  feel  it.  A  big  ship  —  this 
ship  turned  out  to  be  about  twice  the  size  of  the  Clearchus 
—  a  big  ship  like  that  does  not  mind  her  helm  instantly, 
and  she  had  come  up  perhaps  half  a  point  or  less  when  the 
moment  had  passed,  and  the  helm  was  put  up  again, 
bringing  her  back  to  her  course.  I  do  not  believe  she  would 
have  come  up  much  more  in  any  case,  for  a  moment  later 
showed  me  that  she  had  everything  set,  even  to  studding- 
sails  on  the  weather  side;  and  having  all  those  sails  taken 
suddenly  aback  in  the  breeze  that  was  blowing  might  have 
resulted  in  greater  damage  —  to  her,  at  least  —  than  an 
actual  collision. 


A  STRANGE  ADVENTURE  287 

I  say  tbat  a  moment  later  I  saw  that  she  had  everything 
set.  I  was  just  getting  to  my  feet  to  feel  my  way  aft,  when 
there  was  a  blinding  glare  of  lightning  which  illuminated 
the  sea  for  miles  around.  It  was  brighter  than  day;  and 
the  picture  of  the  Clearchus,  pegging  along  on  our  lee 
quarter,  as  though  nothing  had  happened,  and  of  the  cloud 
of  sail  carried  by  the  ship  which  carried  me,  was  etched 
upon  my  mind  with  a  precision  and  permanence  which 
permitted  examination  at  my  leisure.  I  found  that  the 
Clearchus  was  unhurt;  men  at  work  taking  in  her  spanker, 
and  brailing  it,  the  gaff  broken.  A  spare  boat  gone,  and 
some  splintered  woodwork  on  the  starboard  corner  of  the 
after  house  were  the  only  evidences. 

No  burst  of  rain  followed  that  single  flash  of  lightning, 
but  a  crash  of  thunder,  and  the  giants  seemed  to  be  bowl- 
ing over  my  head.  Then,  after  a  little,  threads  of  lightning 
began  to  chase  each  other  over  the  sky,  and  soon  the  sky 
was  covered  with  an  interlacing  network,  the  lines  moving 
incessantly,  accompanied  by  a  continuous  crackling,  like 
the  cracklings  in  a  gigantic  frying-pan.  The  wind  had 
dropped  almost  instantly,  and  we  lay  there,  rolling  gently 
in  the  swell,  and  flapping  that  enormous  spread  of  canvas 
in  a  flat  calm. 

It  was  light  enough  to  see  easily  where  I  was  going,  and 
I  made  my  way  inboard,  where  I  was  met  by  the  lookout. 
He  sent  me  aft  to  see  the  officer  of  the  watch,  who  ques- 
tioned me  briefly.  I  wanted  him  to  send  me  aboard  the 
Clearchus  at  once,  but  he  refused,  saying  that  the  breeze 
might  start  up  again  at  any  moment,  and  that,  with  all 
that  spread  of  sail,  they  would  inevitably  leave  their  boat 
behind;  and  that  he  would  not  call  all  hands  to  reduce 
sail  for  anybody.  He  said  that  I  had  come  on  his  ship  of 
my  own  accord,  and  if  I  did  not  like  it  I  could  leave. 
He  would  not  keep  me  from  going;  or  a  boat  could  be 
sent  for  me  from  my  own  ship  without  much  trouble.  That 
was  true.  I  wondered  why  they  did  not  send  for  me,  for  I 


288  SHE  BLOWS! 

thought  that  the  man  at  the  wheel  had  seen  me  go;  hut 
I  found  out  afterward  that  the  man  at  the  wheel  had  been 
so  completely  taken  up  with  other  things  that  he  had  not 
noticed  my  departure,  and  they  had  not  yet  found  that  I 
was  missing. 

While  I  stood  talking  with  the  officer  the  breeze  began 
to  come  in  again  from  the  same  quarter  as  before.  The 
sails  filled  gradually,  and  the  ship  heeled  a  little,  and  be- 
gan to  forge  ahead.  He  would  not  bother  with  me  any 
longer,  and  sent  me  to  the  steerage,  where  there  was  a 
spare  bunk.  By  the  time  I  had  turned  in  the  breeze  had 
become  strong  again,  the  lightning  had  withdrawn  below 
the  eastern  horizon,  the  clouds  were  breaking,  and  the  ship 
was  doing  a  good  fourteen  knots  and  something  to  spare. 

The  ship  was  the  Virginia  of  London,  Marshall,  master, 
last  from  Mauritius,  bound  for  Hongkong  and  Canton. 
I  saw  Marshall,  master,  in  the  morning.  Captain  Marshall 
was  a  man  between  thirty-five  and  forty,  clean-shaven 
when  that  was  less  the  fashion  than  it  is  now;  and  a  man 
who  would  take  the  trouble  to  shave  himself  every  morn- 
ing, at  sea,  would  take  a  great  deal  more  trouble  about 
more  important  matters.  He  was  a  well-set  man  of  above 
the  medium  height,  with  brown  hair  just  beginning  to  turn 
gray.  I  noticed  him  particularly  because  he  looked  enough 
like  Smith  to  be  his  brother,  except  that  his  eyes  were  not 
of  that  opaque  china-blue,  but  a  gray  that  was  alive,  and 
hinted  at  kindness  beneath  his  crust  of  silence  and  stern- 
ness. I  wondered  whether,  by  any  strange  chance,  he  was 
Smith's  brother,  and  whether  he  would  care  to  know  that 
we  had  left  his  brother  sinking  into  the  ooze  off  Amster- 
dam. 

I  did  not  tell  him.  He  was  not  a  man  who  invited  con- 
fidences, but  a  wonderful  master  of  a  ship,  if  I  was  any 
judge.  He  seemed  to  know  all  about  me,  and  about  the 
Clearchus,  but  that,  I  suppose,  was  only  inference  and 
good  guessing.  He  told  me  that  I  might  consider  myself  a 


PASSENGER  ON  THE  VIRGINIA      289 

passenger  on  his  ship  for  two  or  three  days,  as  he  had  a 
full  crew;  and  he  told  me  very  particularly  what  a  pas- 
senger might  do  and  what  he  might  not.  He  would  land  me 
at  Anjer  or  at  Batavia,  as  I  preferred;  and  he  would  see 
my  captain,  if  the  Clearchus  arrived  before  he  left,  and 
pay  for  any  damage  she  had  suffered.  If  he  did  not  see 
Captain  Nelson,  I  was  to  tell  him  that  the  owners  of  the 
Virginia  would  be  happy  to  pay  for  his  repairs  if  he  would 
send  them  a  bill.  Then  I  was  dismissed  courteously.  I  had 
not  said  a  word  during  the  interview.    • 

I  spent  the  whole  of  that  day  on  deck,  taking  a  very 
simple  but  an  exquisite  pleasure  in  just  watching  the  ship 
sail.  She  did  it  so  beautifully!  There  was  a  smashing 
breeze  from  the  southeast,  but  the  Virginia  had  everything 
set  that  she  could  stand  up  under,  —  a  cloud  of  white  can-1 
vas  reaching  up  and  up,  apparently  without  end;  she  was 
heeled  to  her  channels,  and  she  sailed.  It  was  a  revelation 
to  me;  the  speed,  the  discipline,  which  was  like  that  on  a 
war  vessel,  the  continuous  attention  to  little  things  like 
trimming  in  a  sheet  six  inches,  the  haul  on  bowlines,  until 
each  sail  drew  without  a  tremor,  pulling  and  hauling  or 
slacking  off  a  brace  by  inches,  to  make  the  angle  exactly 
what  the  officer  of  the  deck  thought  it  should  be.  In  the 
minute  attention  given  to  details  it  was  like  a  continuous 
yacht  race  of  to-day,  but  of  ten  or  twelve  thousand  miles 
instead  of  thirty.  The  men  were  alive  every  minute  of  the 
time;  they  jumped  at  an  order,  and  were  satisfied  and 
willing  and  proud  of  their  ship.  Anybody  could  see  that, 
but  who  would  not  be  ?  I  had  no  doubt  that  there  had  been 
many  and  many  a  heartbreaking  day  of  setting  up  and  tar- 
ring down  rigging,  slushing  masts,  reeving  ropes,  and 
bending  sails,  —  there  must  have  been,  on  a  ship  driven 
as  the  Virginia  was  driven,  —  but  I  saw  none  of  it  that 
day.  She  was  almost  into  port,  and  it  was  all  done  until 
the  next  time.  The  discipline  was  strict,  but  sailormen  do 
not  object  to  that.  I  think  that,  in  their  hearts,  they  like  it. 


290  SHE  BLOWS! 

They  had  a  man  of  iron  for  master,  but  they  had  good 
quarters,  good  food,  and  good  treatment.  There  would  be 
no  desertions  at  the  next  port.  And  the  officers  were  all 
proud  of  the  ship  and  put  their  best  into  her.  As  for  Mar- 
shall, master,  he  loved  the  ship ;  loved  her  so  well  that  he 
could  not  bear  to  see  her  not  looking  her  best  and  doing 
her  best. 

Until  late  that  afternoon  I  hung  over  the  weather  rail, 
in  the  space  to  which  passengers  were  limited,  to  use  Cap- 
tain Marshall's  words,  in  a  condition  of  unalloyed  bliss. 
I  revelled  in  the  breeze,  in  the  sight  of  the  marching, 
sunny  sea,  in  the  way  the  ship  cut  cleanly  through  the  seas, 
keeping  her  bows  wet  with  spray,  in  the  crisp  commands 
and  the  way  the  men  responded  to  them,  in  the  noises  of 
a  ship  and  the  sound  of  the  water,  and  in  the  silence.  Now 
and  then  I  lifted  my  eyes  to  the  towering  pyramid  of  can- 
vas, and  I  could  not  help  echoing  the  thought  of  the  sailor 
quoted  by  Dana :  "  How  quietly  they  do  their  work !  " 

Captain  Marshall  was  on  deck  nearly  all  day,  pacing 
the  deck  by  the  weather  rail,  but  I  did  not  hear  him  give 
an  order.  He  scarcely  spoke.  I  think  that  he  was  in  much 
the  same  condition  as  I.  He  watched  the  sea  and  the  sky 
and  the  sails,  and  occasionally  he  smiled  as  if  he  was  half 
ashamed  of  doing  so,  but  could  not  help  it.  On  one  of 
these  occasions  I  spoke  to  him  impulsively. 

"  Captain  Marshall,"  I  said,  "  I  must  thank  you  for 
giving  me  this  day.  It  has  been  as  happy  a  day  as  I  ever 
spent." 

He  was  puzzled  at  this  outburst,  and  he  hardened. 
"Just  what,"  he  began  coldly,  "  do  you  —  " 

"  The  ship,"  I  interrupted ;  "  she  sails  so  beautifully !  I 
never  expected  to  have  such  an  experience  —  never  knew 
there  was  such  to  be  had." 

He  smiled  again  at  that.  "  Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  "  the  ship. 
She  's  a  sweet  sailer  —  a  sweet  sailer."  He  turned  on  his 
heel,  still  murmuring  "  sweet  sailer." 


JAVA  HEAD  AND  ANJER  291 

I  looked  out  over  the  water  again,  and  saw  Java  Head 

just  rising  above  the  horizon. 

Late  that  night  we  came  to  anchor  before  Anjer,  the 
fourth  bay  on  the  right  as  you  go  through  the  Strait  from 
the  Indian  Ocean.  The  captain  went  ashore  in  the  morning, 
but  I  did  not  go  with  him.  I  would  go  on  to  Batavia.  It  was 
just  around  the  corner. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

At  Batavia  I  stayed  on  board  of  the  Virginia  as  long  as 
I  could.  I  had  not  a  cent  of  money  in  my  pockets,  and  I 
did  not  like  to  ask  help  of  any  kind,  even  of  the  American 
consul.  The  Virginia  had  some  freight  to  be  unloaded,  and 
I  watched  the  men  breaking  out  that  part  of  the  cargo 
while  Captain  Marshall  went  ashore.  The  captain  appar- 
ently did  not  see  me  that  morning,  which  I  suppose  was 
his  way  of  being  indulgent.  There  was  a  good  deal  of 
freight  to  be  taken  off,  and  when  it  was  out  of  the  way 
there  was  as  much  more  to  be  taken  in  and  stowed:  great 
quantities  of  sugar  and  coffee  and  spices  for  England, 
and  some  things  for  Hongkong  and  Canton,  I  could  not  tell 
what.  I  wondered  idly  why  they  took  aboard  the  cargo  for 
England  on  the  way  east,  but  I  never  found  out.  The 
officers  of  the  Virginia  were  not  the  kind  of  men  one  asked 
idle  questions. 

The  cargo  was  not  all  stowed  before  noon  of  the  next 
day,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  the  Clearchus.  I  was  getting 
very  uneasy,  and  had  actually  made  a  move  to  speak  to  the 
captain,  when  he  turned  to  me. 

"  Here  's  your  ship,"  he  said. 

I  looked  down  the  bay,  and  saw  her  upper  masts  and 
dirty,  slovenly  looking  sails,  appearing  indistinctly  above 
the  islands.  It  was)  a  great  contrast  to  the  white  canvas  and 
shining  spars  of  the  Virginia,  and  I  felt  a  strange  mix- 
ture of  relief  and  disappointment. 

We  had  to  wait  for  the  Clearchus,  for  the  wind  was 
light,  and  I  thought  that  she  never  would  get  in.  Captain 
Marshall  did  not  wait  for  her  to  put  her  anchor  over,  but 
was  pulled  out  and  met  her,  leaving  the  Virginia  with  her 
anchor  hove  short,  her  sails  loosed  and  hanging  in  the 


BACK  ON  THE  CLEARCHUS         293 

clewlines,  and  the  crew  standing  by  to  make  sail.  He 
went  over  the  side  of  the  Clearchus  much  more  easily 
and  gracefully  than  I  did,  and  immediately  went  below 
with  Captain  Nelson.  To  my  astonishment,  I  was  hailed  as 
one  raised  from  the  dead.  It  seems  that  nobody  had  seen 
me  at  the  moment  of  my  departure,  and  I  had  not  been 
missed  until  some  hours  after  the  collision.  Then  the  man 
who  had  been  at  the  wheel  recalled  my  yells,  and  they  con- 
cluded that  I  had  been  knocked  overboard.  Of  course  it 
was  then  too  late  to  look  for  me,  as  nobody  could  swim  for 
four  or  five  hours  at  the  rate  the  Clearchus  was  going, 
small  as  that  rate  was.  I  laughed  when  I  heard  this  ex- 
planation, but  I  made  no  comment.  If  they  did  not  know, 
or  had  forgotten,  that  I  could  not  swim  at  all,  I  would 
not  bring  up  a  painful  subject.  Peter  and  the  Prince  said 
nothing,  but  I  was  afraid  that  Peter's  smile  would  crack 
his  leather  cheeks. 

I  was  relieved  from  this  embarrassing  situation  by  the 
return  to  the  deck  of  Captain  Marshall,  accompanied  by 
Captain  Nelson.  Both  captains  looked  pleased,  especially 
Captain  Nelson.  They  stopped  for  a  moment  to  glance  at 
the  damage  done,  which  was  trifling,  except  for  the  loss 
of  the  boat.  As  this  thought  crossed  my  mind  I  looked  up 
at  the  roof  of  the  after  house.  There  was  no  boat  missing. 
They  must  have  picked  it  up.  I  asked  Peter,  and  he 
nodded,  saying  that  it  was  unhurt.  At  that  moment  Peter 
and  the  Prince  were  called  to  their  duty,  and  our  anchor 
was  let  go.  I  sidled  aft,  to  be  within  plain  sight  of  Cap- 
tain Marshall  when  he  left.  That  was  all  I  could  do.  He 
took  no  notice  of  me,  but  disappeared  over  the  side.  I  was 
disappointed,  and  felt  a  sinking  of  the  heart;  but  I  had 
no  reason  to  expect  anything  better.  To  him  I  was  but 
one  of  the  crew  of  the  Clearchus,  and  a  whaleman.  Smart 
masters  of  smart  ships  have  a  profound  contempt  for 
whalemen  as  a  class,  because  of  their  general  slackness, 
I  suppose,  although  those  of  them  who  really  know  feel 


294  SHE  BLOWS! 

an  equally  profound  respect  for  their  venturesome  spirit. 
Captain  Marshall  was  the  master  of  the  smartest  ship  I 
have  ever  come  across,  and  the  condition  of  his  vessel  re- 
flected the  character  of  the  master,  as  it  always  does.  The 
impression  I  got  of  Captain  Marshall,  and  the  one  I  al- 
ways retained,  was  that  of  a  kind  man  —  if  you  once  got 
under  his  stiff  crust  of  reserve  and  custom.  I  think  that,  at 
heart,  he  was  sentimental,  and  was  afraid  that  the  crust 
might  break  and  show  his  real  nature.  So  he  never  forgot, 
but  took  every  opportunity  to  harden  and  stiffen  the  crust ; 
and  he  lavished  a  wealth  of  sentiment  on  his  ship  in  secret. 

I  found  Captain  Coffin  standing  just  forward  of  the 
house,  nursing  his  bandaged  ankle  and  gazing  at  the  Vir- 
ginia. I  took  my  stand  beside  him,  and  we  watched  while 
the  Virginia  got  her  anchor  up  smartly,  and  got  under 
way  smartly,  without  the  smallest  mistake  or  mishap.  Her 
canvas  fell  into  place  swiftly  and  with  the  precision  of  a 
machine,  and  she  was  soon  well  on  her  way  to  sea  under 
a  veritable  cloud  of  snowy  canvas,  and  going  like  a  race- 
horse. There  was  no  sound  from  Captain  Coffin  until  the 
Virginia  was  almost  out  of  sight.  Then  he  heaved  a  long 
sigh,  and  turned  to  me,  almost  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"  Well,  Tim,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  "  she  's  a  great 
vessel  —  a  great  ship,  and  as  sweet  a  sailer  as  I  ever  saw." 

I  grinned  in  return,  from  ear  to  ear.  "That 's  what 
Captain  Marshall  says,  sir,  and  he  's  just  right.  I  spent 
one  whole  day  just  watching  her  sail." 

"  I  'd  give  a  leg,"  he  said,  "  to  command  a  vessel  like 
that.  But  there  's  the  Annie  Battles  sailing  these  seas  some- 
where. She  's  almost  as  good,  and  she  's  mine.  Help  me 
below,  Tim." 

So  I  lent  him  my  shoulder  until  he  was  deposited  oL 
the  cabin  sofa.  A  glance  showed  me  the  same  blue-white 
pitcher  on  the  cabin  table,  with  three  empty  glasses,  and 
three  empty  chairs.  The  pitcher  was  empty  too,  and  cold, 
but  it  had  been  neither  empty  nor  cold.  I  knew. 


BATAVIA  295 

At  Batavia  we  left  poor  Mr.  Snow  in  hospital,  under 
the  charge  of  the  American  consul.  Although  we  were  sorry 
for  him,  there  was  no  one  in  the  ship  who  was  not  glad  to 
have  him  out  of  it.  Soon  after  we  left,  a  homeward-bound 
whaler  called  whose  master  was  willing  to  take  him.  He 
was  already  better,  and  recovered  pretty  well  before  they 
reached  New  Bedford,  but  he  never  went  to  sea  again.  I 
remember  that  I  saw  him,  more  than  ten  years  later.  I 
said  a  few  words  to  him,  but  found  that  he  did  not  know 
me,  and  I  had  no  wish  to  recall  myself  to  him.  He  was 
night  watchman  for  one  or  two  of  the  banks  then  on 
Water  Street,  and  was  a  little  "  queer,"  but  not  queer 
enough  to  prevent  his  being  a  good  enough  night  watch- 
man. 

We  were  in  Batavia  about  a  week,  although  I  could  see 
no  reason  for  our  staying  more  than  a  couple  of  days.  The 
two  men  that  we  had  picked  up  at  Amsterdam  Island  with 
Captain  Coffin  left  us  there,  and  none  were  shipped  in  their 
places,  as  the  old  man  did  not  like  the  looks  of  any  of  the 
candidates.  This  rejoiced  me  in  particular,  for  I  was  prac- 
tically put  back  in  my  boat.  It  was  no  cause  of  rejoicing 
to  the  sailmaker,  however,  for  it  put  him  back  in  his  boat 
too;  but  Captain  Nelson,  I  believe,  expected  to  pick  up  a 
man  or  two  later  on.  We  sailed  at  last,  expecting  to  look 
around  the  Java  Sea  a  bit,  and  if  there  were  no  whales 
there,  which  Captain  Nelson  hardly  expected,  we  would 
stand  up  the  China  Sea,  past  the  Philippines,  to  the  Japan 
grounds.  The  captain  hoped  to  do  well  on  the  Japan 
grounds. 

In  Java  Sea  we  did  better  than  was  expected.  We  saw 
several  small  schools,  got  fast  four  times,  and  saved  two 
whales,  one  of  them  a  big  bull.  This  bull  was  the  cause 
of  an  adventure  which  might  have  resulted  seriously  for 
me.  We  had  got  fast  to  him,  and  he  had  run  for  a  while. 
Then  he  sounded.  He  had  taken  out  quite  a  little  line, 
when  the  strain  on  the  line  eased,  although  the  line  did 


296  SHE  BLOWS! 

not  slack  entirely.  That  was  an  indication  that  he  had 
doubled  on  his  course  under  water,  and  Mr.  Brown  kept 
a  sharp  lookout  for  him  over  the  bow,  for  he  might  be  com- 
ing to  attack  the  boat.  I  could  not  help  giving  an  occasional 
glance  over  the  side.  I  confess  that  I  was  nervous.  Mr. 
Brown  did  not  see  me,  having  his  back  toward  me,  but  the 
Prince  did,  and  held  up  his  hand  in  warning,  although  he 
said  nothing.  That  was  not  enough  to  stop  me,  and  I 
glanced  over  again.  One  glance  was  enough.  There  was  the 
whale  coming  up  like  a  rocket,  belly  up  and  jaws  open. 
I  dropped  my  oar,  and  reached  past  Kane  for  the  boat 
spade.  As  I  reached,  Mr.  Brown  gave  a  yell  to  stern  all. 
Of  course  I  could  not,  having  no  hold  on  my  oar,  but  it 
was  too  late,  anyway. 

At  that  instant  the  lower  jaw  shot  into  the  air  past  my 
head.  I  had  never  thought  the  teeth  of  a  sperm  whale 
looked  very  dangerous  until  I  saw  those  teeth,  looking 
like  a  row  of  gravestones,  flashing  by  my  eyes  to  twice 
my  height.  I  did  not  stop  to  philosophize  on  the  matter  of 
whales'  teeth,  however,  but  I  jammed  the  boat  spade  down 
instantly,  with  all  my  strength  and  all  my  weight  behind 
it.  By  pure  good  luck  I  hit  the  jaw  muscles  on  one  side, 
and  cut  them  nearly  through.  Probably  I  saved  the  life  of 
the  tub-oarsman,  who  would  have  been  caught  between  the 
jaws;  or  quite  possibly  I  saved  my  own  life,  for  I  might 
have  been  the  one  to  be  caught  by  those  jaws.  It  seemed, 
at  the  time,  to  be  an  opening  for  two  young  men. 

The  jaws  closed  partially,  but  there  was  no  strength  in 
the  bite,  and,  although  the  planks  on  one  side  were  stove 
in,  between  me  and  the  tub  oar,  the  boat  was  not  bitten 
in  two,  which  would  have  happened  if  the  whale  had  had 
the  full  use  of  his  jaw  muscles.  He  made  no  further  at- 
tack, but  sank  again  into  the  sea,  leaving  us  with  the  water 
pouring  in  through  the  broken  planks.  In  a  few  minutes  we 
were  completely  waterlogged,  and  the  men  sat  in  their 
places    with  the  water  up  to    their  waists,  and   the  seas 


COWS  AND  CALVES  297 

breaking  into  the  boat.  Mr.  Tilton  pulled  up  and  took  our 
line,  and  killed  the  whale.  All  the  fight  seemed  to  have 
been  taken  out  of  him.  He  cut  in  over  eighty-five  barrels. 

By  the  time  we  had  that  whale  and  our  other  one  —  a 
thirty-barrel  cow,  which  made  no  fight  —  we  were  about 
off  Macassar,  and  we  held  northward  through  the  Strait 
of  Macassar  instead  of  going  back  and  through  the  China 
Sea.  We  had  head  winds  until  we  had  got  to  the  east  of 
the  Philippines,  but  we  were  in  no  hurry,  and  the  head 
winds  did  not  bother  us.  It  was  here  that  we  saw  a  strange 
and  interesting  sight. 

We  had  raised  a  small  school  of  whales  and  had  lowered 
four  boats.  The  whales  proved  to  be  cows,  most  of  them 
with  calves  accompanying  them  closely.  I  knew  too  little 
about  whales  then  —  I  know  no  more  now —  to  be  able  to 
tell  the  age  of  a  whale  calf  by  its  appearance ;  these  calves 
were  not  newly  born,  but  yet  they  were  so  young  that  they 
had  to  come  up  to  blow  every  three  or  four  minutes.  Mr. 
Baker  struck  a  calf,  probably  thinking  by  that  manoeuvre 
he  would  find  the  capture  of  the  mother  easier. 

I  know  that  I  was  rather  shocked  at  his  doing  so  at  the 
time.  There  was  nothing  sporting  about  it.  It  was  like 
murdering  a  baby.  But  there  was  nothing  sporting  about 
whaling  —  none  of  the  sporting  spirit,  and  my  feeling  was 
only  momentary.  It  did  seem  short-sighted,  at  the  least, 
to  destroy  an  animal  that  could  be  of  no  possible  use  to  us, 
and  one  which  might  grow  up  to  be  of  considerable  value 
to  somebody.  There  should  be  some  sort  of  international 
agreement  not  to  kill  calves  or  any  cow  under  forty  barrels 
or  so.  It  would  be  in  the  interest  of  the  whale  fishery  as 
an  industry,  and  would  very  likely  result,  eventually,  in 
making  it  easier  to  fill  up  a  ship;  like  the  restrictions  on 
the  seal  fishery,  or  good  game  laws  on  land.  Nobody  sup- 
poses that  the  game  laws  exist  from  sympathy  with  the 
game ;  but  where  there  is  a  good  buck  law,  deer  are  abun- 
dant enough. 


298  SHE  BLOWS! 

To  come  back  to  Mr.  Baker;  he  knew  whales  very  well, 
and  ought  to  have  known  what  would  happen.  The  whole 
school  of  a  dozen  or  fifteen  cows  brought  to  at  once,  and 
gathered  around  the  wounded  calf  and  Mr.  Baker's  boat. 
They  crowded  so  closely  about  the  boat  that  Mr.  Baker  did 
not  dare  to  use  his  lance,  and  had  all  he  could  do  to  keep 
his  boat  from  being  stove  by  the  loose  cows.  The  three 
other  boats  were  at  some  distance  when  he  struck.  We 
pulled  up  as  fast  as  we  could,  but  could  do  nothing  to  help 
him.  On  the  way  over  I  heard  Mr.  Macy  call  to  Mr.  Til- 
ton  to  look.  I  could  see  nothing,  of  course,  having  my  back 
to  whatever  it  was  that  he  was  calling  attention  to,  but  on 
our  arrival  on  the  outskirts  of  the  school  I  saw  what  it 
was. 

There  were  a  great  many  more  than  fifteen  whales  there, 
and  more  were  arriving  every  minute.  In  self-defense,  Mr. 
Baker  had  lanced  two  of  the  nearest,  and  he  could  have 
reached  two  or  three  more  from  the  boat.  The  whales 
seemed  to  have  lost  their  wits,  but  were  none  the  less  dan- 
gerous on  that  account,  they  were  so  tightly  packed.  The 
small  school  which  we  had  attacked  had  been,  apparently, 
but  an  offshoot  of  a  much  larger  school,  all  cows  and  calves. 
Their  spouts  covered  the  sea  for  some  distance.  No  doubt 
they  seemed  more  numerous  than  they  were ;  but  we  found 
our  boat  gradually  getting  enclosed,  and  we  backed  out, 
after  lancing  two  without  putting  an  iron  into  either. 
So  did  Mr.  Tilton  and  Mr.  Macy,  leaving  Mr.  Baker 
closely  surrounded  by  crazy  whales ;  probably  only  gallied 
and  not  knowing  what  to  do.  There  was  nothing  for  Mr. 
Baker  to  do  but  to  do  nothing,  and  he  did  it.  His  men  took 
in  their  oars,  and  there  they  sat  waiting  for  something  to 
turn  up,  their  boat  not  so  very  unlike  one  of  the  bodies 
that  surrounded  it. 

Presently  Mr.  Baker's  patience  was  rewarded.  The 
poor  little  calf  which  he  had  struck  turned  on  its  side,  fin 
out,  and  the  whales  scattered  very  soon,  the  whole  school 
gradually  resuming  its  orderly  progress. 


A  NEWBORN  CALF  299 

Just  before  we  backed  out  of  the  mess,  the  whales  of 
the  main  school  had  come  so  close  to  our  boat  that  I  had 
only  to  look  over  the  side  to  see  the  small  calves  swim- 
ming close  alongside  their  mothers,  almost  concealed  from 
view.  One  of  the  calves  I  saw  must  have  been  born  a  very- 
little  time  before,  for  its  flukes  were  scarcely  unfolded.  I 
have  no  means  of  knowing  how  long  it  takes  for  that  proc- 
ess, but  the  calf  could  not  have  been  more  than  a  few  days 
old.  The  mother  seemed  very  anxious  and  solicitous  for  its 
safety.  I  saw  her  turn  partly  on  her  side,  and  put  her  side 
fin  over  it,  holding  it  close  against  her,  as  you  would  take  a 
small  child  under  your  arm.  She  had  it  so  when  we  backed 
away,  and  lost  sight  of  the  pair. 

The  school  left  us  in  such  semblance  of  order  that  we 
could  not  have  struck  again  without  risking  a  repetition 
of  Mr.  Baker's  experience;  and  we  had  about  as  many 
whales  as  we  could  take  care  of  at  one  time.  Each  boat 
had  got  one  or  two.  They  were  all  small,  none  over  thirty 
barrels,  and  some  much  smaller. 

When  the  trying-out  was  over  we  made  for  the  Japan 
grounds  as  straight  as  we  could  with  the  northeast  trades 
directly  ahead.  Peter  was  still  engaged  in  repairing  the 
boat  stove  in  the  Java  Sea.  It  was  stove  rather  badly, 
every  plank  on  the  port  side  from  the  gunwale  nearly  to 
the  garboard  strake  having  to  be  replaced,  and  two  broken 
ribs.  Although  Peter's  workmanship  left  a  repaired  boat 
almost  as  good  as  new  —  it  would  be  better  in  some  cases, 
but  our  boats  had  been  made  by  Beetle,  and  were  good 
boats  —  in  spite  of  Peter's  workmanship,  we  had  a  good 
many  cripples.  If  the  rate  of  damage  to  boats  increased,  it 
seemed  to  me  that  we  might  find  ourselves  short.  One  fight- 
ing whale  will  sometimes  reduce  two  or  three  boats  to 
matchwood,  quite  beyond  Peter's  skill.  We  were  going 
where  there  was  no  source  of  supply,  for  what  whale  boats 
were  scattered  among  the  islands  of  the  Pacific  were 
mostly  old  boats,  patched  and  painted  over  to  hide  the 


300  SHE  BLOWS! 

patches ;  boats  that  the  whalemen,  who  traded  them  to  the 
natives,  had  no  further  use  for.  Still,  I  do  not  remember 
that  I  worried  about  it  at  the  time.  It  is  only  since  I  got 
home  —  since  I  became  middle-aged  and  timid,  I  suppose 
whalemen  would  say  —  that  it  has  seemed  to  me  short- 
sighted. 

We  stood  in  fairly  close  to  Formosa,  and  in  that  neigh- 
borhood we  got  one  whale,  a  lone  bull,  which  made  no  fight 
to  speak  of,  although  it  was  not  like  slaughtering  a  steer 
at  Green's  or  Pike's.  A  pot  of  hot  oil  from  him  may  have 
saved  us;  or,  at  any  rate,  it  may  have  saved  us  a  nasty 
fight.  While  we  were  trying-out,  a  small  junk  appeared 
from  the  direction  of  Formosa  or  the  Chinese  coast  beyond. 
Nobody  gave  it  a  thought  until  it  was  close  aboard,  when 
it  suddenly  occurred  to  Captain  Nelson,  who  happened  to 
be  on  deck,  that  its  actions  were  suspicious.  I  saw  nothing 
suspicious  about  it  except  that  it  was  almost  near  enough 
to  throw  a  biscuit  aboard  —  if  anybody  had  wanted  to 
waste  a  biscuit.  The  old  junk  was  going  along  after  the 
manner  of  junks,  with  six  or  seven  men  loafing  on  deck. 
We  were  hove  to,  and  a  great  volume  of  black  smoke  was 
pouring  from  our  try-works.  As  far  as  working  the  ship 
was  concerned,  we  were  helpless.  If  they  wanted  to  board 
us,  they  could  do  it  a  dozen  times  over  before  we  could 
get  the  Clearchus  going. 

Captain  Nelson  watched  the  junk  for  a  minute,  then  he 
spoke  to  Mr.  Baker,  who  went  at  once  among  the  men. 
The  men  left  their  work,  and  armed  themselves  with 
lances,  harpoons,  spades,  and  boarding-knives,  but  did  not 
range  themselves  along  the  rail,  for  the  captain  was  not 
sure,  and  he  did  not  want  to  make  himself  a  laughing-stock 
among  other  captains.  I  was  watching  the  men,  feeling 
little  pricklings  all  over  and  my  hair  rising.  Captain 
Nelson  turned  to  me. 

"  What  'you  grinning  about,  Tim  ?  "  I  had  not  been 
aware  that  I  was  grinning,  but  I  was,  from  ear  to  ear. 
"  Get  the  guns  and  revolvers  from  the  cabin." 


A  PIRATE  JUNK  SOI 

"  All  of  them,  sir?  "  I  asked,  my  voice  shaking  with  ex- 
citement. 

"  All  you  can  carry." 

I  jumped  for  the  cabin  stairs,  and  clanked  up  again, 
making  a  noise  like  an  arsenal.  The  captain  could  not  help 
laughing  to  see  me.  I  had  the  Spencers,  of  course,  three  of 
the  heavy  bomb  guns,  two  revolvers,  and  some  ammunition. 
I  distributed  my  arsenal  among  the  officers. 

"  Here  she  comes,"  said  Mr.  Baker  —  with  satisfaction, 
I  thought. 

The  junk  had  gone  by  us,  until  she  was  almost  directly 
to  windward,  had  turned,  and  was  coming  down  before  the 
wind,  her  men,  who  had  been  hidden  below,  swarming  out 
upon  deck.  They  were  armed  mostly  with  long  knives. 

I  looked  at  our  own  men.  They  were  taking  their  places 
at  the  rail  according  to  their  nature;  some  slowly,  some 
quickly.  I  saw  Peter  go  with  business-like  rapidity,  and 
take  his  place  by  the  fore  rigging.  He  had  a  boarding- 
knife.  The  Prince,  with  a  harpoon  in  his  hand,  and  two 
more  leaning  against  the  rail  at  his  side,  leaped  upon  the 
rail  beside  Peter.  I  ran  to  Peter's  other  side,  seizing  a 
boarding-knife  as  I  ran,  and  there  we  were,  the  three  of  us 
together,  the  Prince,  Peter,  and  I.  Peter  took  it  all  quietly, 
as  if  it  were  a  regular  part  of  his  duty  to  meet  a  junk-load 
of  Chinese  pirates;  I  was  a  little  afraid,  I  think,  but  at 
the  same  time  I  was  pleased,  and  I  was  wildly  excited; 
and  the  Prince  stood  on  the  rail,  looking  down  with  the 
utmost  contempt  upon  the  Chinese.  He  was  stripped  to  the 
waist  —  most  of  our  men  were  half-stripped  —  and  looked 
like  an  ebony  statue,  the  gold  hoops  in  his  ears  shining 
out  against  his  shining  black  skin. 

The  junk  was  very  near  now,  and  one  of  their  men 
crawled  up  with  a  great  bronze  hook  on  the  end  of  a  cable. 
He  was  going  to  try  to  hook  fast  to  us,  but  he  never  did 
make  the  trial.  He  had  to  rise,  for  a  moment,  and  expose 
himself.  That  moment  was  enough  for  the  Prince,  who 


302  SHE  BLOWS! 

was  directly  opposite  him,  and  only  a  few  feet  away.  The 
Prince  raised  his  harpoon,  and  darted  quickly.  The  sharp 
weapon  struck  the  man  full  in  the  chest,  went  clean 
through  him  as  if  his  body  had  been  made  of  paper,  and 
the  barbs  stuck  a  good  three  inches  behind  his  back. 

The  Prince  smiled  at  that.  "  Ha!  "  he  cried.  "  You  want 
come  aboard  ?  Come  on,  then," 

He  jerked  the  body  over  the  rail  of  the  junk,  and  it  fell 
with  a  thud  against  our  side.  Then,  still  standing  erect,  he 
hauled  it  over  our  rail,  and  dumped  it  on  the  deck  at  my 
very  feet.  It  turned  me  sick  and  faint  for  an  instant. 

I  was  roused  out  of  my  faintness  by  a  shout  from  Kane, 
who  had  been  standing  not  far  from  me.  He  threw  down 
his  spade,  ran  to  the  try-works,  seized  one  of  the  long- 
handled  copper  dippers,  and  dipped  it  into  one  of  the 
kettles  of  oil.  The  oil  was  unusually  hot,  and  the  drops 
that  fell  from  the  dipper,  as  he  ran  back  with  it,  smoked 
fiercely,  and  threatened  to  start  fires. 

"  Look  out,  boys !  "  he  shouted,  swinging  his  dipper  of 
hot  oil.  "  I  '11  give  them  a  drink." 

We  drew  away  from  the  swing  of  the  dipper.  With  a 
last  swing  at  the  full  length  of  the  long  handle  he  let  them 
have  it. 

"  Have  a  doughnut,"  he  roared,  "  you  dhirty  chinks !  " 

He  had  thrown  with  all  his  strength,  and  with  consider- 
able skill,  so  that  the  contents  of  the  dipper  were  dashed 
upon  a  good  many  of  the  men,  and  scattered  into  drops. 
The  drops  fell  upon  the  bare  bodies  like  a  rain  of  fire,  and 
every  drop  sizzled  where  it  struck,  literally  frying  the 
Chinese  in  spots.  There  was  a  yell  from  our  men  at  Kane's 
success,  and  frenzied  yells  of  pain  came  from  the  junk. 
Kane  had  turned  at  once,  and  ran  back  to  fill  his  dipper 
again.  Many  men  followed  him,  to  grab  whatever  they 
could  lay  hands  upon  which  would  hold  oil. 

I  was  among  the  first  to  turn  and  run,  thrusting  my 
boarding-knife  into  Peter's  hands,  and  bidding  him  hold  it. 


PIRATES  REPELLED^WITH  HOT  OIL    303 

The  decks,  of  course,  were  almost  swimming  in  oil  and 
greasy  dirt,  as  we  had  been  in  the  middle  of  trying-out.  As 
I  ran  I  heard  a  shout  from  Peter  to  duck.  At  the  same 
instant  I  fell  flat  upon  my  face  on  the  deck,  and  a  long 
knife  whistled  over  my  head,  striking  against  the  bricks  of 
the  try-works.  It  was  a  piece  of  good  luck,  with  no  effort 
of  mine  contributing.  I  had  merely  stepped  in  a  puddle  of 
oil,  and  my  foot  had  slipped. 

By  the  time  I  had  got  to  my  feet  again,  there  was  noth- 
ing left  to  dip  the  oil  with,  and  I  went  back  to  my  post  be- 
side Peter.  Kane  had  thrown  a  second  dipperful  of  oil,  with 
as  great  success  as  the  first,  and  there  was  now  a  continu- 
ous shower  of  hot  oil  crossing  the  widening  gulf  between 
the  vessels.  The  junk  had  given  up  the  attempt  to  board 
us,  and  was  only  anxious  to  get  away,  her  men  pushing 
with  long  poles,  while  exposing  their  bodies  as  little  as 
possible.  The  junk  slowly  dropped  astern,  helped  by  much 
pushing  and  some  drifting.  As  she  had  come  down  upon  us 
from  the  windward,  she  could  not  get  off  directly;  but 
the  Clearchus  was  forging  ahead  a  little. 

Hot  oil  was  showered  upon  the  junk  while  she  was 
within  range  of  the  men,  but  the  officers,  their  guns  held 
ready,  withheld  their  fire,  and  at  last  she  cleared  us.  As 
she  cleared  our  stern,  and  her  sails  filled  and  she  stood 
to  leeward,  her  men  were  still  shouting  in  agony,  some  of 
the  worst  burned  clawing  at  their  bodies.  Presently  a  man 
jumped  overboard.  He  sank  from  sight,  and  I  did  not  see 
him  come  up  again.  Then  another  jumped,,  and  another; 
and  then  two  together.  All  four  came  up  again,  but  the  junk 
made  no  attempt  to  pick  them  up,  and  the  men  made  no 
attempt  to  swim,  so  far  as  I  could  see.  They  just  lay  there, 
bobbing  on  the  surface  or  under  it,  now  in  plain  sight,  no\C 
out  of  sight,  until  they  disappeared. 

We  had  made  no  move  to  pick  them  up,  which  worried 
me  somewhat,  and  finally  I  spoke  to  Mr.  Baker,  who  passed 
near.  Two  of  the  Chinese  were  still  afloat. 


304  SHE  BLOWS! 

"  Are  n't  we  going  to  pick  up  those  men,  Mr.  Baker?  " 

"  What  men?  "  he  asked.  "  Any  of  our  men  overboard? 
Don't  seem  so.  If  any  of  those  yellow  pirates  are  over- 
board, the  junk  can  pick  'em  up  if  she  wants  to.  What  we 
do  is  the  Cap'n's  business,  not  yours  or  mine,  Tim." 

I  looked  at  Captain  Nelson.  He  was  standing  under  the 
after  house,  gazing  forward  absently,  as  if  nothing  had 
happened.  He  did  not  see  any  men  overboard,  nor  did 
Mr.  Baker,  nor  any  other  of  the  officers.  At  that  moment 
Captain  Nelson  called  me,  and  I  went  to  him. 

"  Take  the  guns  below,"  he  said. 

When  I  came  up  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  except  a 
junk,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  leeward,  going  before  the  wind. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

We  reached  the  Japan  grounds  in  May  of  1874,  and 
cruised  thereabouts  until  August.  Then  we  stood  to  the 
southward,  loafing  past  the  Volcano  Islands,  the  Ladrones, 
Carolines,  Solomon  and  Fiji  Islands,  always  on  the  look- 
out for  whales,  and  taking  a  number  of  them.  We  were  on 
the  New  Zealand  grounds  early  in  November.  We  had 
only  average  success  on  the  Japan  grounds  and  our 
cruise  to  the  southward;  pulled  in  many  a  fruitless 
chase,  and  most  of  the  whales  we  did  get  made  no  fight 
worth  mentioning,  for  which  the  men  were  thankful. 
Two  of  the  whales,  however,  did  seem  to  think  their 
lives  worth  fighting  for,  and  one  of  the  two  fights  was 
successful  from  the  whale's  point  of  view. 

The  first  of  these  fights  occurred  about  the  middle  of  the 
northern  summer.  We  were  off  the  coast  of  Japan  a  hun- 
dred miles  or  so,  and  it  was  blowing  hard  from  the  south- 
west, when  we  raised  this  lone  spout  to  windward.  I  was 
standing  by  the  weather  fore  rigging,  having  escaped  work 
in  the  cabin  —  the  officers  were  rather  lenient  as  to  my 
duties  in  the  cabin  in  view  of  my  work  in  the  boat,  but  I 
tried  not  to  be  conspicuous  when  I  was  loafing  —  I  stood 
by  the  fore  rigging,  with  arms  folded  upon  the  rail.  So  far 
as  I  can  recollect,  I  was  thinking  of  nothing  at  all,  but 
letting  the  wind  blow  on  my  face,  and  enjoying  myself. 
Suddenly  there  came  a  spout  about  a  mile  off,  and  just 
before  my  eyes,  a  perfect  plume.  I  had  not  seen  the 
whale  rise,  and  even  after  the  spout  I  saw  nothing  of  his 
body.  The  cry  came  down  from  the  masthead  immediately, 
and  I  moved,  expecting  that  my  boat  might  be  called  upon. 

The  call  did  not  come,  however.  We  were  to  leeward  of 
the  whale,  and  the  ship  was  manoeuvred  for  half  an  hour, 


306  SHE  BLOWS! 

trying  to  get  to  windward  of  him,  and  waiting  for  him  to 
sound.  We  did  not  succeed  in  getting  a  windward  berth, 
for  he  was  moving  slowly  to  windward,  and  kept  his  ad- 
vantage. He  did  go  down  when  he  got  good  and  ready,  his 
flukes  going  into  the  air  until  he  seemed  to  be  standing  on 
his  head,  half  submerged,  and  he  disappeared,  apparently 
going  straight  down. 

Mr.  Brown  and  Mr.  Tilton  then  lowered,  but  they  did 
not  hurry  about  it,  for  the  whale  had  gone  down  less  than 
a  mile  from  the  ship,  and  it  was  likely  that  he  would  stay 
down  for  an  hour.  We  pulled  to  the  spot  we  had  chosen 
as  the  most  likely,  and  waited,  occasionally  pulling  a  few 
strokes  to  hold  our  position.  Mr.  Tilton  was  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  away.  While  we  waited,  the  ship  worked  up  past 
us,  and  got  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  directly  to  windward 
of  us.  Mr.  Tilton  guessed  nearer  than  Mr.  Brown.  The 
whale  rose  beyond  Mr.  Tilton's  boat,  coming  up  on  a  half- 
breach.  We  heard  the  tremendous  splash  of  it,  and  saw  Mr. 
Tilton's  men  begin  to  pull;  then  we  began  to  pull,  and  I 
saw  no  more  of  what  was  going  on  except  the  oars  and  the 
backs  of  the  men  directly  before  my  eyes,  and  Mr.  Brown's 
unexpressive  face,  as  he  stood  at  the  steering  oar. 

We  chased  that  whale  for  nearly  two  hours  before  Aze- 
vedo  had  a  chance  to  strike.  Then  I  saw  Mr.  Brown's  face 
light  up. 

"  White  water!  "  he  said.  "  He  's  fast." 

I,  for  one,  was  glad.  It  is  no  play  to  pull  a  whaleboat 
into  the  teeth  of  such  a  sea  and  wind  as  there  was  then. 

"  She  spouts  thin  blood,"  he  added,  a  moment  later. 
"  Sounded." 

We  took  it  easy  after  that,  and  soon  came  up  with  Mr. 
Tilton.  The  whale  had  sounded  out  all  his  line  before  we 
got  there,  and  the  ship  was  hull  down  to  leeward,  but  com- 
ing as  fast  as  she  could. 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  wait.  The  whale  must 
have  gone  down  at  a  terrific  rate,  and  he  had  gone  straight 


A  PUZZLING  WHALE  307 

down,  for  he  came  up  in  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes,  and  a 
short  distance  ahead  of  us.  We  pulled  frantically.  Just  as 
I  saw  the  huge  body  beginning  to  show  at  the  corner  of 
my  eye,  half  awash,  the  Prince  darted  with  all  his  strength, 
both  irons,  with  great  rapidity.  At  the  same  moment  Mr. 
Brown  hove  mightily  upon  the  steering  oar,  to  lay  the  boat 
around,  crying  out  to  the  Prince  to  take  the  lance  to  him. 
The  boat  responded,  and  for  a  brief  interval  we  ran  with 
the  whale,  the  starboard  oars  against  the  gunwale,  and  I 
trying  my  best  to  get  in  the  slack  of  the  line  before  we  be- 
gan to  fall  astern,  while  Kane  held  my  oar  for  me.  The 
Prince  had  seized  a  lance  almost  before  Mr.  Brown  had  got 
the  words  out  of  his  mouth,  and  had  plunged  it  twice  into 
the  whale.  Mr.  Brown  had  given  auother  twist  to  the  steer- 
ing oar,  and  we  sheered  off  just  as  the  flukes  struck  the 
water  with  a  noise  like  a  big  gun  and  the  effect  of  a  cat- 
aract. I  had  let  go  the  line  and  grabbed  my  oar  again, 
and  we  just  did  get  out  of  the  way  as  the  whale  sounded, 
with  a  side  cut  of  flukes. 

He  did  not  go  deep  enough  to  take  out  all  our  line, 
although  he  came  near  it ;  but  we  held  him  there,  with  the 
bow  of  the  boat  pulled  down  within  a  foot  of  the  water, 
the  stern  raised  a  little,  and  every  other  sea  breaking  into 
the  boat,  which  kept  Kane  and  me  bailing.  Mr.  Tilton  came 
jup,  and  he  and  Mr.  Brown  thought  the  whale  done  for; 
virtually  dead.  The  whale  did  not  rise,  and  at  last  Mr. 
Tilton  pulled  for  the  ship,  which  was  coming  up  pretty 
fast,  to  get  a  new  line. 

Still  we  waited.  The  whale  did  not  move.  Mr.  Tilton 
had  boarded  the  ship,  got  his  line,  and  shoved  off  again. 
We  began  to  wonder  if  it  was  a  dead  whale  that  we  had  at 
the  end  of  that  line,  and  we  all  relaxed.  The  whale  had 
been  down  an  hour,  and  Mr.  Tilton  was  not  halfway  to  us, 
when  the  bow  was  suddenly  released,  and  the  stern  fell 
back  gently,  with  a  little  splash.  The  strain  on  the  line  had 
eased,  and  he  was  coming  up.  How  fast  he  was  coming,  and 


308  SHE  BLOWS  1 

where  he  would  rise  were  questions  of  some  interest,  but 
no  more  than  that.  He  was  a  dead  whale,  or  as  good  as 
dead. 

I  was  aroused  to  something  more  than  interest  by  the 
rasp  of  the  whale's  teeth  against  the  boat,  and  his  jaw  shot 
into  the  air,  it  seemed  to  me  for  fifty  feet.  As  it  passed 
me,  I  saw  the  tip  of  the  jaw  was  curled  around  into  a 
tight  spiral.  That  spiral  jaw  fascinated  me.  I  could  not 
keep  my  eyes  off  it,  and  I  did  not  think  of  the  boat  spade. 
There  was  no  time  to  use  it,  anyway,  even  if  I  had  thought 
of  it.  The  whale  had  the  boat  fairly  in  his  mouth,  between 
the  tub  and  the  after  oar,  and  he  lost  no  time  in  closing, 
biting  it  cleanly  in  two.  The  water  rushed  in  upon  me, 
still  sitting  at  my  oar.  I  saw  the  stern  sheets  fall  square 
with  the  whale's  snout,  and  Mr.  Brown  step  off  upon  it  and 
dive.  Then  the  water  closed  over  me  for  an  instant;  but  I 
had  not  let  go  my  oar,  and  I  came  to  the  surface,  sput- 
tering, and  hugging  the  oar  close.  I  do  not  remember  that 
I  was  frightened,  but  my  whole  attention  was  occupied, 
and  I  did  not  know  what  was  happening  to  the  others, 
nor  to  myself,  until  I  found  myself  on  the  bottom  of  the 
forward  half  of  the  boat.  I  have  often  wondered  just  how 
I  got  there. 

As  soon  as  I  was  in  a  condition  to  observe  anything,  I 
saw  the  whale  feebly  butting  the  stern  of  the  boat  from 
side  to  side,  about  fifteen  feet  away,  while  Black  Man'el 
and  Mr.  Brown  were  swimming,  Man'el  as  if  he  were  hurt. 
I  saw  Mr.  Brown  help  Man'el  to  the  steering  oar,  which 
still  swung  there,  and  then  the  whale  turned  to  our  half 
of  the  boat.  His  butts  were  so  feeble  —  no  more  than 
gentle  pushes  —  that  we  had  no  difficulty  in  holding  on ; 
and,  after  pushing  us  about  for  two  or  three  minutes,  he 
very  simply  rolled  over  upon  his  side,  fin  out. 

Mr.  Tilton's  crew  had  seen  our  predicament,  and  had 
been  pulling  hard  for  us,  and  Mr.  Macy  had  lowered  from 
the  ship.  Mr.  Tilton  took  us  off.  Black  Man'el  was  the  only 


A  SPIRAL  JAW  809 

one  hurt.  He  had  an  ugly  wound  in  his  arm,  which  the 
whale's  teeth  had  caught  and  ripped  from  shoulder  to 
elbow,  but  no  bones  were  broken.  I  thought  the  boat  was 
hopelessly  stove,  and  of  no  further  use  to  anybody,  except 
for  firewood;  but  Captain  Nelson  had  Mr.  Macy  pick  up 
the  pieces,  and  Peter  afterward  made  another  boat  of 
them. 

The  whale  made  seventy-three  barrels.  His  deformed 
jaw  was  saved  and  cleaned,  and  when  the  Clearchus  got 
home,  it  was  added  to  the  collection  of  such  curiosities.  It 
is  now  in  the  Whaling  Museum. 

The  outcome  of  the  other  fight  was  different.  The  officers 
were  at  breakfast  when  we  heard  the  cry  from  the  mast- 
head, and  we  all  ran  on  deck  at  once.  There  were  many 
spouts,  quite  a  large  school,  four  or  five  miles  to  leeward. 
We  ran  down  for  them,  getting  the  boats  and  their  gear 
ready  as  we  went;  and  at  a  distance  of  about  a  mile  we 
lowered  four  boats,  all  but  Captain  Coffin's.  His  ankle  was 
still  giving  him  some  trouble,  although  he  used  it.  I  have 
no  doubt  that  that  was  just  the  reason  it  troubled  him,  for 
he  had  used  it  too  soon  and  too  much,  and  he  was  a  great 
heavy  man. 

The  whales  in  the  school  were,  most  of  them,  rather 
small  cows;  but  there  were  two  bulls  of  good  size,  about 
eighty  or  ninety  barrels,  Mr.  Brown  guessed.  The  boats 
devoted  their  attention  to  them.  There  was  sea  enough  to 
make  it  easy  to  approach  the  whales,  and  they  were  to  lee- 
ward, which  made  it  easier  still.  Mr.  Baker  and  Mr.  Macy 
took  one,  while  Mr.  Tilton  and  Mr.  Brown  took  the  other. 
Mr.  Baker  struck  his  whale  first,  and  Mr.  Macy  did  not 
get  fast  to  him  at  all,  for  he  immediately  ran  to  wind- 
ward, not  very  fast,  towing  Mr.  Baker,  with  Mr.  Macy  m 
pursuit.  I  did  not  see  much  of  it,  naturally ;  but  Mr.  Macy 
failed  to  catch  him,  and  when  he  had  taken  Mr.  Baker  five 
miles  to  windward  of  the  ship,  the  whale  increased  his 
speed,  and  the  line  parted.  Starbuck  had  not  been  able  to 


310  SHE  BLOWS! 

get  both  irons  into  him,  and  the  second  harpoon,  skittering 
along  on  the  top  of  the  water,  had  cut  and  frayed  the  line. 
I  could  imagine  Mr.  Baker's  flow  of  language  at  that  acci- 
dent, which  is  one  of  the  regular  risks  of  the  business. 
There  was  nothing  for  the  two  boats  to  do  but  to  get  back 
and  try  to  find  the  rest  of  the  school,  but  the  school  had 
gone.  So  had  we. 

Meanwhile  we  had  struck  our  whale.  We  approached 
him  from  behind.  I  heard  the  hoarse  bellow  of  his  spout 
getting  nearer  —  he  was  the  loudest  spouter  I  ever  heard ; 
we  passed  his  flukes,  which  worked  slowly  and  lazily,  for 
he  had  not  seen  us,  and  the  sea  made  too  much  noise  for 
him  to  hear  us;  then  we  passed  his  small  and  his  hump. 
Then  Mr.  Brown  nodded  to  the  Prince,  and  he  stood  up, 
I  suppose,  although  I  saw  nothing  of  him.  Then  Mr. 
Brown  laid  the  boat  around,  and  we  ran  spang  into  the 
whale's  body  just  aft  of  his  fin,  and  the  Prince  darted  both 
of  his  irons  as  Mr.  Brown  yelled  to  us,  "  Stern  all !  "  The 
whale  gave  one  convulsive  leap  ahead,  his  flukes  went  into 
the  air,  and  came  down  again,  drenching  everybody  in  the 
boat,  and  he  sounded  instantly  and  rapidly.  He  took  out 
line  very  fast,  one  tub  and  half  of  the  other;  then  he 
turned,  and  came  up  again  as  fast  as  he  went  down.  The 
line  went  out  very  nearly  as  fast  when  he  was  coming  up 
as  when  he  went  down,  but  it  was  held  on  the  loggerhead, 
so  that  it  did  not  all  go  out.  He  breached  a  short  distance 
from  the  boat,  almost  his  whole  length  out,  falling  back 
with  a  great  noise  and  a  splash  which  filled  us  half  full 
of  water. 

Mr.  Tilton,  meanwhile,  had  been  coming  up  as  fast  as 
he  could,  but  he  was  not  yet  up  with  us.  The  whale  oblig- 
ingly lay  still,  looking  about  him  with  a  malevolent  eye, 
while  we  heaved  in  the  slack  of  our  line.  We  had  it  almost 
in  when  he  caught  sight  of  Mr.  Tilton's  boat,  and  made 
for  it  instantly.  Mr.  Tilton  withdrew  a  little,  and  the 
whale  changed  his  mind  and  sounded  again,  but  not  deep. 


AN  OVERTURNED  BOAT  311 

The  cows  of  the  school  had  come  up,  and  were  hovering 
near,  but  not  near  enough  for  Mr.  Tilton  to  get  any  of 
them  easily,  and  he  had  his  eye  on  our  bull.  The  cows 
seemed  to  have  lost  their  wits.  They  reminded  me  of  a 
flock  of  hens  crossing  the  road,  and  they  were  as  hard  to 
get.  Our  bull  came  up,  and  we  managed  to  give  Mr.  Brown 
one  chance  with  the  lance.  The  thrust  had  not  reached  any 
vital  spot,  and  that  was  all  we  could  do,  for  the  whale 
made  up  his  mind  to  run. 

He  ran  to  leeward,  but  he  ran  under  water,  and  we  went 
off  on  our  sleigh-ride,  accompanied  by  the  whole  school  of 
cows.  Now  and  then  he  came  up  to  spout,  but  we  were 
slowly  distancing  Mr.  Tilton.  We  made  several  unavailing 
attempts  to  pull  up  and  lance,  but  the  only  effect  was  to 
increase  the  speed  of  the  whale.  The  ship  was  hull  down, 
and  Mr.  Tilton  soon  out  of  sight.  That  was  early  in  the 
forenoon.  That  whale  ran  until  late  in  the  afternoon  be- 
fore we  were  able  to  pull  up.  As  soon  as  he  felt  Mr. 
Brown's  lance,  the  whale  sounded,  head  first,  his  flukes 
grazing  the  bottom  of  the  boat  as  he  went,  and  setting  her 
to  rolling,  but  not  rolling  her  over.  When  he  felt  her,  he 
turned  like  a  flash,  and  came  up  again,  obliquely  at  us, 
mouth  open  and  belly  up,  thrusting  and  striking  with  his 
jaw.  Most  fortunately  he  did  not  stove  the  boat,  but  rolled 
it  over,  merely  chipping  the  gunwale  with  his  teeth. 

Then  he  seemed  to  think  that  he  had  done  damage 
enough  —  in  which  matter  I  agreed  with  him  —  probably 
settled  us;  and  he  lay  about  fifty  feet  away,  snapping  his 
spout  hole  and  snapping  his  jaws,  giving  every  evidence  of 
extreme  irritation,  but  not  attacking.  We  should  have  been 
helpless  if  he  had,  and  should  have  had  to  take  to  the 
water,  and  scatter.  He  was  spouting  thin  blood,  and  prob- 
ably in  no  great  distress.  I  remember  that  several  of  the 
men,  clinging  to  the  bottom  of  the  overturned  boat,  coolly 
discussed  the  color  of  the  spout,  and  concluded  that  the 
whale  was  not  seriously  hurt,  even  with  two  harpoons  in 
him.  and  two  thrusts  of  the  lance. 


312  SHE  BLOWS!- 

We  slowly  drifted  nearer,  until  we  rose  and  fell  side  by 
side,  the  boat  occasionally  rubbing  against  him,  but  he 
gave  us  no  attention.  The  cows  had  disappeared.  He  lay 
there  for  over  an  hour,  until  we  saw  Mr.  Tilton  coming  up 
under  sail.  When  the  whale  caught  sight  of  Mr.  Tilton's 
boat,  he  made  for  it  at  once,  snapping  his  jaws.  Mr.  Til- 
ton  then  had  his  sail  down,  and  he  backed  away,  evading 
the  rush  of  the  whale,  and  putting  an  iron  into  him.  Upon 
feeling  the  iron,  the  whale  ran  again.  He  had  not  gone 
far,  however,  —  not  above  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  —  when  the 
line  went  slack,  showing  that  the  iron  had  drawn.  We  did 
not  see  that  whale  again,  nor  our  two  harpoons  and  tub  of 
line.  It  was  long  after  dark  when  we  got  aboard  the  ship, 
pretty  well  worn  out. 

The  experience  with  that  whale  rankled  in  my  mind  for 
a  long  time.  To  think  that  any  whale  could  do  about  as  he 
pleased  with  two  boats  and  twelve  men,  keep  the  men 
working  hard  for  about  ten  hours,  and  then  get  away  with 
harpoons  and  line,*  was  almost  too  much.  It  exasperated 
me.  Even  when  we  were  off  the  Solomon  Islands,  well  on 
our  way  to  New  Zealand,  I  was  thinking  of  it,  and  com- 
plained of  it  to  Peter,  for  about  the  hundredth  time. 

He  laughed  comfortably.  "  Still  thinking  o'  that,  lad  ?  " 
he  asked.  "  You  'd  best  forget  it.  It 's  all  in  the  day's 
work.  The  others  have  forgot  it  long  ago.  Whales  'd  be 
poor  sort  o'  critters  if  they  did  n't  get  the  better  of  us 
some  o'  the  time.  When  you  come  to  think  of  it,  it 's  a 
wonder  we  ever  get  a  whale.  Why,  they  ought  to  kill  us 
all,  and  they  would  if  they  had  any  brains  in  that  mon- 
strous head  of  theirs." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

For  some  time  Captain  Coffin  was  excited  and  restless; 
even  more  restless  than  usual,  and  he  was  always  a  rest- 
less and  active  man.  Although  he  would  sometimes  sit  still 
for  long  periods,  he  left  you  with  the  impression  of  activ- 
ity, of  tension,  as  though  he  was  prepared  instantly  for 
anything.  At  such  times  his  eyes  were  very  bright,  and 
from  time  to  time  his  head  turned  alertly.  I  had  no  doubt 
that  he  was  hatching  possible  plans  for  the  recapture  of 
the  Battles,  or,  at  any  rate,  that  his  brain  was  seething 
with  ideas,  probably  chaotic,  which  he  was  trying  to  re- 
duce to  something  like  order.  We  were  in  the  seas  for 
which  he  was  certain  that  she  was  bound,  the  one  refuge 
of  every  mutinous  or  piratical  crew. 

All  of  us  had  been  thinking  more  or  less  of  the  Battles. 
My  own  thoughts,  I  remember,  were  about  equally  divided 
between  her  and  cannibalism.  Cannibalism  always  has  a 
peculiar  fascination  for  the  minds  of  young  and  old,  al- 
though we  older  people  pretend  that  it  is  the  scientific 
side,  the  history  of  the  race,  and  the  origin  of  the  practice 
that  fascinates  us.  For  a  boy  it  is  the  gruesomeness  that 
fascinates,  and  I  made  no  pretense  about  it.  We  had 
passed  the  Solomons,  about  which  I  had  heard  various 
horrible  tales,  and  were  passing  the  Fijis.  We  did  not  even 
see  the  Fijis,  although  I  stood  at  the  rail  for  about  two 
hours,  straining  my  eyes  to  the  eastward  for  a  possible 
sight  of  them,  while  the  brisk  trade  wind  blew  in  my  face. 
I  got  something  out  of  it:  dreams  of  coral  islands,  and  of 
breadfruit  and  coconuts,  and  the  soothing  of  that  great, 
steady  wind  upon  my  spirit.  I  do  not  know  what  Captain 
Coffin  got  out  of  it.  I  saw  him  standing  at  the  main  rig- 
ging, doing  the  same  thing.  , 


314  SHE  BLOWS! 

When  we  got  to  the  New  Zealand  grounds  we  began  at 
once  the  regular  routine  of  cruising,  but  saw  no  whales  for 
three  days.  We  did  see  two  whalers,  one  of  them  from 
home,  having  sailed  a  week  or  two  after  we  did,  and  come 
around  the  Horn.  This  was  the  Henry,  Captain  Jeffer- 
son. We  lay  to  for  the  whole  of  that  day,  while  we  had  a 
good  gam,  Captain  Nelson  going  aboard  her  for  the  fore- 
noon, and  their  first  mate  coming  aboard  of  us.  In  the 
afternoon  the  two  captains  adjourned  to  the  Clearchus, 
and  the  Henry's  mate  went  back,  followed  by  Mr.  Baker 
in  his  boat.  The  Henry  had  no  mail  for  us  —  none  for  me, 
at  least  —  and  I  did  not  send  any  of  my  journal  by  her, 
only  a  brief  letter  to  my  mother,  for  the  chances  were  that 
we  should  get  home  as  soon  as  she.  Each  captain  had 
whaling  news  of  value  to  the  other,  and  possibly  the  rum 
on  the  Clearchus  was  different  from  the  Henry's,  and  they 
wanted  to  compare  them.  Captain  Jefferson  put  off  about 
sunset,  and  Mr.  Baker  came  back.  Much  to  the  disappoint- 
ment of  Captain  Nelson,  Captain  Jefferson  knew  nothing 
about  any  new  cruising  ground,  the  place  where  the  Apollo 
had  filled  up. 

A  couple  of  days  later  we  raised  the  spouts  of  a  small 
pod  of  fairly  large  whales,  and  got  one  of  fifty  barrels, 
which  Mr.  Macy  killed.  The  other  boats  chased  for  three 
hours  in  a  heavy  combing  sea,  but  the  whales  got  away. 
After  that  we  had  the  usual  luck,  nothing  extraordinary. 
We  chased  a  good  many  times  with  no  result,  and  got 
three  whales  which  gave  up  their  lives  quietly.  The  whales 
on  the  New  Zealand  grounds  were  rather  big  fellows,  for 
the  most  part,  sixty  barrels  and  upward;  and  some  have 
been  taken  there  which  ran  well  over  one  hundred  barrels 
—  one  of  one  hundred  and  thirty-seven  barrels,  I  believe, 
although  we  took  none  over  eighty.  Several  of  these  large 
whales  gave  us  trouble. 

The  first  of  these  was  met  when  we  had  been  there 
about  three  weeks.  The  weather  was  boisterous,  as  it  was 


THE  NEW  ZEALAND  GROUNDS      815 

apt  to  be  while  we  were  on  those  grounds.  We  raised  a 
lone  spout,  very  full  and  powerful,  on  the  lee  bow.  The 
whale  was  not  feeding,  but  was  coming  to  windward,  and 
we  lowered  three  boats  at  once,  Mr.  Brown's,  Mr.  Macy's, 
and  Captain  Coffin's.  Captain  Coffin  was  hardly  in  condi- 
tion yet  to  be  of  the  most  service,  but  he  was  so  eager  to 
go  that  Captain  Nelson  let  him.  All  three  boats  pulled  out 
ahead  of  the  whale  to  cut  him  off,  and  waited.  When  we 
first  sighted  the  spout  it  was  above  three  miles  distant,  the 
whale  swimming  in  a  business-like  way  and  making  five  or 
six  knots.  We  had  plenty  of  time,  therefore,  to  get  into 
good  positions,  and  we  drifted  down  before  the  wind  di- 
rectly upon  his  course. 

As  he  was  approaching  us  head  on,  and  as  we  were 
drifting  without  the  use  of  sail  or  oars  —  although  the  men 
had  their  oars  in  their  hands  and  held  them  in  place,  ready 
to  use  —  there  was  nothing  to  give  the  whale  warning  of 
our  presence,  and  he  came  on  quite  unalarmed.  When  he 
was  a  short  distance  away,  he  changed  his  course  slightly, 
and  it  looked,  for  some  seconds,  as  though  he  would  hit 
the  boat,  head  on,  but  Mr.  Brown  laid  the  boat  around  a 
bit,  and  we  pulled  a  couple  of  strokes.  The  next  moment 
his  old  head,  like  a  cliff  of  black  granite,  weather-seamed 
and  scarred,  rose  just  beyond  the  bow  oar.  He  spouted 
and  pitched  under  like  a  flash;  but  the  Prince  drove  one 
iron  into  him  just  above  the  fin.  There  was  no  chance  for 
the  second.  The  boat  whirled  around  quickly,  and  we  were 
off,  with  the  thrashing  flukes  almost  abeam.  The  next 
spout  was  thin  blood. 

The  Prince  and  Mr.  Brown  changed  places,  and  Mr. 
Brown  called  to  us  to  pull  him  up  close  so  that  he  could 
put  in  another  iron.  No  sooner  had  we  dropped  our  oars 
and  laid  hold  of  the  line  to  pull,  than  the  whale  milled 
short  around,  brought  his  nose  accurately  to  the  stem  of 
the  boat  without  giving  Mr.  Brown  a  chance,  and  pushed 
us  fast  astern.  It  was  a  delicate  job  for  the  Prince  to  hold 


316  SHE  BLOWS! 

us  straight  with  the  steering  oar,  and  not  to  let  the  hoat 
swing  around  broadside,  but  for  a  boat  length  he  did  it. 
Mr.  Brown,  during  that  time,  was  pushing  with  all  his 
strength  on  the  harpoon,  the  sharp  point  against  the 
whale's  rubber-like  snout,  but  the  barb  did  not  enter. 
We  heard  and  saw  the  whale's  jaw  snap  up  twice,  but  of 
course  it  did  not  reach  the  boat.  He  spouted,  sending  the 
acrid  vapor,  thinly  mixed  with  blood,  over  us,  setting  us 
all  to  choking,  and  almost  turning  me  inside  out.  Then  he 
withdrew  a  little,  and  lay  there  wallowing  in  the  seas, 
snapping  his  jaw,  and  snapping  his  spout-hole  with  loud 
cracks.  Sperm  whales  can  snap  the  spout-hole,  which  is 
shaped  much  like  the  f-hole  of  a  violin,  with  tremendous 
force.  Meanwhile  he  was  eyeing  us  with  a  malevolent  eye, 
and  no  wonder. 

The  other  boats  were  coming  up;  they  were  nearly 
there.  Mr.  Brown  thought  he  saw  a  chance,  and  ordered 
us  to  pull  up  close.  We  did,  and  the  whale  still  lay  there 
wallowing.  We  grounded  on  his  back,  and  Mr.  Brown 
pumped  his  lance  up  and  down  twice.  There  was  no  time 
for  more,  for  the  whale  went  down  suddenly,  with  a  flour- 
ish of  his  flukes,  barely  missing  us.  He  did  not  go  deep, 
however,  for  while  we  were  watching  the  line  and  the  sea, 
he  floated  up  under  us,  belly  up,  with  his  jaw  almost  at 
right  angles  with  his  body.  There  was  no  time  to  escape. 
That  jaw  came  down  with  a  quick  snap,  cutting  the  boat 
cleanly  in  two  between  the  tub-  and  the  after-oar,  spilling 
the  men  into  the  sea,  and  getting  a  tubful  of  line  entangled 
in  his  teeth.  I  saw  him  spout  thick  blood  just  as  I  went 
over,  clinging  to  my  oar. 

When  I  had  come  to  the  surface,  and  had  cleared  the 
water  out  of  my  eyes,  the  whale  was  trying  to  get  rid  of 
that  tub  of  whale  line.  I  could  hardly  help  laughing,  al- 
though my  situation  was  not  one  for  laughter,  the  whale 
reminded  me  so  strongly  of  a  person  who  had  got  a  mouth- 
ful of  hair,  or  of  the  bristles  from  an  old  toothbrush.  He 


A  WHALE  RAMS  THE  SHIP         317 

seemed  to  feel  almost  the  same  disgust.  The  two  other 
boats,  coming  up,  were  almost  at  his  flukes,  and  the  ship 
had  come  very  near.  The  whale  caught  sight  of  her,  and 
instantly  made  for  her  with  a  vigor  unexpected  in  a  whale 
that  spouts  thick  blood.  The  ship  was  broadside  on,  and 
her  sails  were  already  aback,  so  that  she  could  do  nothing. 
The  whale  struck  her  with  his  head  amidships.  If  he  had 
been  merely  angry,  and  not  hurt,  that  butting  might  very 
well  have  been  a  catastrophe  for  us.  But  the  vigor  with 
which  he  had  started  had  ebbed  rapidly  away,  and  his  butt 
was  feeble,  although  I  saw  the  upper  masts  quiver,  and 
the  masthead  man  was  rattled  about  like  a  die  in  a  box. 
Then  he  drew  off  and  rammed  again.  That  second  attempt 
was  more  feeble  yet.  He  could  do  no  more  than  rub 
against  the  hull;  and  he  passed  under  her,  and  floated  to 
the  surface  on  the  other  side,  fin  out,  with  no  flurry,  unless 
his  feeble  buttings  had  been  his  flurry. 

Mr.  Macy  and  Captain  Coffin  were  picking  us  up.  The 
tub-oarsman  was  found  floating  amid  the  wreckage,  his 
arm  over  his  oar,  unconscious.  He  did  not  recover  con- 
sciousness for  an  hour,  but  then  seemed  to  be  all  right.  He 
must  have  been  hit  on  the  head  by  something,  nobody 
could  guess  what.  They  would  have  thought  it  the  teeth 
of  the  whale,  except  that  the  lower  jaw,  which  contains 
all  the  teeth,  is  too  narrow  to  reach  both  the  tub-  and  the 
after-oarsman;  and  Black  Man'el  was  again  severely 
mauled  by  the  teeth  of  the  whale,  on  the  same  side  that 
was  so  recently  healed.  This  time  it  was  not  his  arm,  but 
his  back.  On  that  ebony  surface  there  were  three  or  four 
bloody  wipes,  where  the  teeth  had  ripped  it  in  the  process 
of  closing.  Black  Man'el,  however,  did  not  miss  a  day's 
duty  on  account  of  it,  taking  his  regular  place  in  the  boat 
when  it  was  called  away,  although  his  back  must  have  been 
lame  and  sore  for  days. 

That  whale  made  eighty-five  barrels.  As  I  was  watch- 
ing the  mates  cutting  off  the  head,  Peter  stopped  for  a 
moment  beside  me. 


818  SHE  BLOWS! 

"  He  's  a  scarred  old  lad,"  he  said,  "  is  n't  he,  Timmie  ? 
Do  you  see  the  marks  of  teeth  he  's  carried  around  for 
many  a  year  ?  " 

I  did  see  them ;  old  scars  of  the  teeth  of  some  other  bull, 
running  up  diagonally  from  his  mouth.  That  other  bull 
must  have  bitten  deep,  for  each  tooth-mark  was  separate, 
and  still  formed  a  little  hollow,  like  the  little  weathered 
hollows  in  a  rock,  where  water  gathers,  or  the  regular 
marks  of  a  drill.  There  were  other  scars,  too,  of  wounds 
where  the  teeth  seemed  to  have  ripped  and  torn  their  way 
viciously. 

"  How  do  they  get  those  scars,  Peter?  Fighting,  I  sup- 
pose; but  how  do  they  fight?  " 

"  I  've  never  seen  them  fighting,  lad.  But  those  who 
have  seen  it  tell  me  that  they  draw  off  from  each  other  a 
little  way,  and  go  at  each  other  full  tilt.  They  turn  on 
their  side,  like,  to  give  their  jaws  play,  and  bite  and 
wrench  and  tear.  Sometimes  they  '11  use  their  jaws  like 
fencing  foils,  without  drawing  off;  but  however  they  do 
it,  they  must  be  savage  at  it.  If  they  fence,  they  don't 
wear  masks." 

"Shall  we  see  fighting  whales,  Peter?" 

He  smiled.  "  We  may  see  'most  anything,  lad.  It 's  hard 
to  tell.  I  've  never  seen  'em,  but  perhaps  my  turn  is  due 
for  that  this  voyage." 

I  wished  fervently  that  we  might  see  it.  I  watched  for 
it  with  new  interest,  and  whenever  we  raised  a  pod  I 
hoped  that  they  might  take  it  into  their  heads  to  fight  — 
fight  among  themselves,  not  us.  I  told  Peter  of  my  hope 
one  day. 

"  Bless  your  heart,  lad,"  he  said,  unsmiling,  which  was 
good  of  him,  "  they  won't  fight.  They  're  in  the  same 
school.  Wait  until  you  see  a  schoolmaster  take  on  a  fellow 
of  about  the  same  size  that 's  trying  to  get  his  job.  Then 
you  may  see  it." 

I  knew  nothing  about  schoolmasters,  bat  I  was  ashamed 


FIGHTING  WHALES  S19 

to  ask,  and  I  said  nothing.  We  were  trying-out  at  the  time, 
and  the  air  was  filled  with  the  acrid  black  smoke  of 
scrap,  and  the  deck  covered  with  oil  mixed  with  soot.  Only 
the  day  before  we  had  raised  a  pod  of  large  whales,  and  I 
had  had  great  hopes,  for  they  were  of  a  size  to  make  a 
good  fight  if  they  took  a  notion  to.  But  nothing  seemed 
farther  from  their  intention  than  to  fight  among  them- 
selves. They  led  us  a  very  pretty  chase — from  their  point 
of  view.  We  were  pulling  hard  after  them  from  sunrise 
until  noon.  Mr.  Macy  had  the  only  chance.  George  Hall 
got  an  iron  well  into  one,  but  it  twisted  off  near  the  head, 
and  all  got  away. 

We  had  scarcely  got  the  boats  on  the  davits  when  a 
whale  rose  and  spouted,  not  a  hundred  yards  from  the 
ship.  Mr.  Baker  bellowed  out  for  a  crew  on  the  instant, 
and  I  ran  to  his  boat,  the  first  one  there.  The  Prince, 
Peter,  Kane,  and  the  Admiral  were  the  others.  We  had  the 
boat  in  the  water,  tumbled  in,  and  were  pulling  for  the 
whale  in  less  than  a  minute.  The  Prince  struck  with  both 
irons,  and  the  whale  sounded  at  once,  with  a  grand  flour- 
ish of  flukes.  He  sounded  out  very  nearly  all  our  line;  so 
nearly  all  of  it  that  we  bent  on  a  drug,  while  Mr.  Baker 
hailed  the  ship  for  more.  Mr.  Tilton's  boat  was  already 
in  the  water,  beginning  to  pull  toward  us,  but  we  held  the 
whale  at  that  depth,  with  but  two  flakes  of  line  left  in  the 
tub. 

Although  that  whale  had  not  nearly  had  his  spoutings 
out,  he  stayed  down  over  an  hour.  Mr.  Tilton  stood  by,  his 
line  bent  to  the  end  of  ours,  but  Mr.  Baker  would  not  give 
up  the  whale  until  he  had  to.  When  the  whale  rose  at  last, 
he  did  not  come  up  with  a  rush,  on  a  breach,  or  half- 
breach,  but  he  floated  up,  and  came  to  the  surface  like  an 
old  waterlogged  timber,  plainly  exhausted.  There  was 
nothing  for  Mr.  Baker  to  do  but  to  pull  up  and  lance  him 
at  his  leisure.  Within  ten  minutes  the  whale  was  in  his 
flurry,  and  in  a  short  time  after  he  was  fast  alongside  the 


320  SHE  BLOWS! 

ship.  Mr.  Baker  estimated  him  at  eighty  barrels,  hut  by 
hard  work  we  had  him  cut-in  and  on  board  by  dark,  and 
the  carcass  cut  adrift. 

It  was  now  past  the  middle  of  the  season,  and  we  put 
into  Wellington  to  fill  our  water-casks,  to  give  the  men  a 
run  ashore,  and  to  get  our  mail.  There  was  no  mail  for 
me,  but  I  sent  home  another  instalment  of  my  journal,  and 
I  saw  the  town,  which  had  little  interest  for  me.  There  was 
only  one  town  which  I  cared  about  seeing,  and  that  was 
more  than  a  year  away,  almost  exactly  on  the  other  side 
of  the  world.  I  had  a  great  desire  to  see  at  least  one  of 
the  Marquesas  Islands,  but  Wellington  is  not  the  Mar- 
quesas. 

When  we  got  back  to  our  cruising  grounds,  whales  were 
getting  scarce  and  wild  and  difficult  of  approach.  The  big 
whales  seemed  to  have  gone.  We  did  get  one  forty-barrel 
bull,  one  of  a  small  school  that  was  running  to  leeward 
from  another  ship.  We  saw  the  ship  in  the  distance,  and 
we  saw  her  boats ;  but  the  whales  were  running  faster  than 
the  boats  could  go.  Our  one  bull  we  intercepted,  but  the 
rest  ran  away  from  us,  straight  to  leeward,  head  out.  It 
was  useless  to  chase  them.  The  strange  boats  did  not  get 
nearer  to  us  than  a  mile  and  a  half;  then  they  gave  it  up, 
and  went  back  to  their  ship,  which  bore  away  to  the  south- 
ward without  an  attempt  to  speak  us. 

Captain  Nelson  must  have  made  up  his  mind  very  sud- 
denly to  get  out  of  those  waters.  As  soon  as  the  trying- 
out  of  the  forty-barrel  bull  was  finished  we  stood  away  to 
the  northward,  for  the  Ellices,  Gilberts,  and  Kingsmill; 
but  most  of  all,  I  thought,  to  find  those  mysterious  grounds 
where  the  Apollo  had  filled  up.  Just  after  we  had  filled 
away,  Peter  found  me,  and  pointed  in  silence  to  the  hori- 
zon. There  was  a  faint  haze,  but  I  made  out  a  pair  of  top- 
masts, with  yards  on  them. 

"  A  brig?  "  I  asked,  with  but  faint  interest. 

"  A  schooner,"  Peter  answered.  "  I  saw  her  from  aloft." 


THE  ANNIE  BATTLES  AGAIN       321 

It  dawned  upon  me  then;  it  was  the  Battles,  going  the 
same  way  we  were.  I  watched  her  draw  away  from  us. 
Then  I  saw  Captain  Coffin  watching,  too. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

As  we  ran  to  the  northward,  we  had  the  wind  on  the  beam 
or  aft  of  that,  most  of  the  time,  usually  brisk  to  strong, 
as  fair  a  wind  as  we  could  have  wished  for.  The  hurricane 
season  was  about  to  begin.  Hurricanes  are  most  frequent 
in  March  and  April,  although  occasionally  there  is  a  se- 
vere one  toward  the  last  of  February;  and  their  tracks 
most  commonly  cross  the  Fiji  or  Samoan  Islands  in  a  gen- 
eral southerly  direction,  then  curving  more  and  more  to  the 
eastward.  We  stood  well  to  the  west  of  Fiji,  and  were  past 
the  Ellices  before  the  end  of  the  southern  summer,  so  that 
we  escaped  them  entirely  —  if  there  were  any  —  and  were 
usually  running  about  as  fast  as  the  old  Clearchus  was 
able,  under  the  southeast  trades,  and  under  a  regular 
trade-wind  sky. 

It  was  seldom  necessary  to  touch  a  brace  or  a  halliard, 
and  our  crew  had  very  little  to  do.  The  mastheads  were 
kept  manned,  but  I  soon  came  to  the  conclusion  that  that 
was  done  merely  as  a  matter  of  form,  or  from  habit,  and 
not  for  any  practical  purpose,  for  we  raised  spouts  on  two 
occasions  on  our  way  up  without  lowering  or  even  chang- 
ing the  course.  Each  time  Captain  Nelson  came  on  deck, 
looked  at  the  spoutings  for  a  couple  of  minutes,  and  turned 
away  without  saying  anything.  And  each  time  Mr.  Baker 
asked  him,  "  Lower,  sir  ?  "  rather  wistfully,  and  the  old 
man  shook  his  head,  and  went  below  again.  I  did  not  know 
what  to  make  of  it,  and  Mr.  Baker  did  not  seem  to  know 
either.  He  appeared  to  be  dumbfounded  —  completely 
flabbergasted  —  and  he  looked  after  the  captain,  and,  on 
the  second  occasion,  I  heard  him  mutter  that  he  'd  be  eter- 
nally damned  to  hell-fire,  or  words  to  that  effect  —  with 
sundry  embellishments  —  if  he  knew  what  the  captain  was 
lip  to.  I  made  up  my  mind  that  the  idea  of  finding  the 


IN  THE  SOUTHERN  OCEAN         323 

mythical  Apollo  island  obsessed  him.  We  had  over  two 
thousand  barrels  on  board,  and  needed  only  three  or  four 
hundred  to  fill  us  up.  Think  of  the  disappointment  of  find- 
ing a  gold  mine,  with  nowhere  to  put  the  gold!  Easy 
money,  for  the  mere  picking  up,  and  no  way  of  carrying 
it  off. 

I  had  always  been  in  the  habit  of  standing  by  the  bul- 
warks, when  I  had  the  chance,  or  sitting  curled  up  in  some 
favorable  spot  with  an  unobstructed  view,  and  watching 
the  water  and  the  sky.  There  was  more  chance  now  than 
usually,  and  I  would  stand  by  the  main  rigging,  or  lie  in 
a  coil  of  rope  by  the  heel  of  the  bowsprit,  for  an  hour  at 
a  time,  and  watch  the  Southern  Ocean  slip  by.  I  generally 
had  the  "  Navigators  "  in  my  hand,  held  open  by  my 
thumb,  but  I  read  very  little.  It  is  fine  print,  and  it  was 
much  more  interesting  to  watch  the  trade  wind  clouds, 
or  to  glance  at  the  swaying  masthead  men,  or  at  the  birds 
which  accompanied  us.  There  was  usually  a  frigate-bird  or 
two,  or  a  tropic-bird,  although  these  birds  were  rare ;  gan- 
nets  and  boobies  and  terns  and  many  others.  It  was  my 
delight  to  see  a  frigate-bird  rise  majestically  in  great 
circles,  higher  and  higher,  without  a  motion  of  his  wings 
or  his  body  that  I  could  detect,  until  he  was  a  mere  speck 
in  the  blue.  At  sight  of  flying  fish  rising  in  flight,  perhaps 
before  albacore,  or  of  a  gannet  or  a  booby  that  had  been 
successful  in  fishing,  he  begins  to  drop,  at  first  in  circles; 
when  still  at  a  considerable  height,  he  closes  his  wings, 
makes  his  body  miraculously  small,  falls  like  a  stone  or  a 
bullet,  and  comes  up  before  the  poor  gannet,  threatening, 
the  robber  that  he  is !  The  gannet  instantly  drops  the  fish, 
the  frigate  dives  through  the  air,  and,  getting  it  before  it 
has  fallen  far,  rises  to  eat.  He  did  not  always  get  his  fish 
by  robbery,  but  caught  flying  fish  at  the  height  of  their 
flight  in  the  air.  I  never  saw  one  dive  into  the  sea,  and  the 
men  said  they  were  unable  to  rise  from  the  water,  but  must 
keep  on  the  wing,  waking  or  sleeping,  from  land  to  land. 


324  SHE  BLOWS! 

I  never  saw  one  rob  a  tropic-bird  eitber,  but  tbey  used 
sometimes  to  threaten  the  masthead  men. 

One  morning  I  was  standing  by  the  rail,  Captain  Coffin 
pacing  the  deck  behind  me,  although  it  was  not  his  watch. 
I  should  not  speak  of  him  as  Captain,  for  he  was  not 
captain  on  the  Clearchus,  although  I  suppose  still  cap- 
tain of  the  Battles.  We  had  run  out  of  the  trades,  and 
we  were  trying  to  make  an  easterly  course,  but  we  were 
not  making  out  very  well.  We  had  frequent  showers,  some 
of  which  were  almost  of  the  proportions  of  deluges;  and 
calms  and  light  airs  from  any  point  of  the  compass  about 
a  quarter  of  the  time.  When  the  wind  did  come,  it  was 
mostly  ahead,  and  we  made  little  progress.  On  the  night 
before  this  morning,  I  remember,  there  was  a  great  deal 
of  phosphorescence  in  the  water.  The  ship  was  scarcely 
moving,  but  the  little  ripples  at  her  bow  glowed  brightly; 
her  wake  was  a  luminous  road,  stretching  out  far  astern, 
every  whirl  and  eddy  a  vortex  of  living  light.  I  saw  a 
shark  clearly  outlined  in  greenish  light,  and  a  sudden 
burst  of  fireworks  at  a  little  distance  showed  where  a 
school  of  flying  fish  had  been  disturbed  and  driven  from 
the  water  like  the  balls  of  a  roman  candle. 

I  was  thinking  of  those  flying  fish  as  I  stood  by  the  rail 
that  morning,  and  I  had  brought  my  old  battered  glass 
along.  It  was  a  calm  morning,  hot  and  sticky,  the  sea 
fairly  quiet.  Suddenly  I  saw  what  I  thought  must  be  a 
school  of  flying  fish  break  the  water  about  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  away  and  take  their  flight.  They  looked  too  big  for 
flying  fish,  their  flight  in  the  air  too  short,  and  I  brought 
my  glass  to  bear.  I  soon  caught  them  again,  and  they  cer- 
tainly did  not  look  like  fish,  but  I  was  not  ready  to  believe 
they  were  what  they  looked  like.  I  turned  to  Captain 
Coffin,  and  asked  him. 

He  stopped  by  my  side,  waving  the  glass  away  when  I 
offered  it  to  him.  The  creatures  soon  appeared  again,  com- 
ing out  of  the  water  in  a  spurt  or  gust. 


SHARKS  ATTACKING  A  WHALE     325 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  "  flying  squid." 

"  But,"  I  asked,  "  do  squid  fly  ?  " 

lie  laughed.  "  No,"  he  said,  "  no  more  than  flying  fish 
fly  —  nor  so  much.  As  you  see.  There  must  be  something 
chasing  them." 

At  this  moment  the  musical,  quavering  cry  of  the  Ad- 
miral came  down  to  us :  "  Bl-o-o-ows !  " 

The  spout  was  dead  to  windward,  about  five  or  six  miles 
off.  I,  at  any  rate,  could  not  see  it  from  the  deck,  even 
with  my  glass,  there  was  such  a  quiver  of  heated  air  at  the 
horizon.  Captain  Nelson  came  on  deck,  went  up  to  the 
main  crosstrees,  and  stayed  there  for  some  time,  watch- 
ing. When  he  came  down  Captain  Coffin  asked  him  what 
he  made  of  it. 

"  Can't  make  out,"  he  answered.  "  Something  queer  go- 
ing on.  May  be  swordfish,  or  perhaps  those  big  sharks; 
or  killers,  except  for  the  latitude.  We  '11  stand  up  that 
way  as  fast  as  we  can." 

"Lower,  sir?"  Mr.  Baker  asked,  knowing  well  what 
the  answer  was  likely  to  be. 

Captain  Nelson  shook  his  head.  "  Not  yet." 

It  took  us  a  long  time  to  get  up  anywhere  near,  but  the 
spout  remained  very  nearly  stationary,  and  there  was  con- 
siderable white  water  raised  about  it.  The  light  breeze, 
nearly  dead  ahead,  died  out,  and  we  wallowed  there  for 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  in  a  flat  calm.  But  we  were  near 
enough  to  see  what  was  going  on,  and  I  watched  through 
my  glass.  There  were  two  whales  instead  of  one,  very  dif- 
ferent in  size.  The  smaller  of  the  two  seemed  to  be  the 
centre  of  the  commotion,  and  I  caught  several  glimpses  of 
bodies,  gleaming  brightly  as  they  broke  the  surface  for 
an  instant.  There  must  have  been  five  or  six  of  them,  but 
I  could  not  tell  certainly  whether  they  were  sharks  or 
swordfish  or  what.  I  had  never  seen  a  killer.  The  larger 
whale  was  making  short,  savage  dashes  at  the  attacking 
fish,  but  without  any  marked  result,  so  far  as  I  could  see. 


326  SHE  BLOWS! 

I  handed  the  glass  to  Captain  Coffin.  "  Won't  you  look, 
sir,  and  tell  me  what  they  are  ?  " 

"  I  don't  really  need  the  glass,  boy,"  he  said,  "  to  tell  me 
that  they  're  sharks."  But  he  took  it,  and  held  it  to  his 
eyes.  "  Sharks ;  big  devils,  twenty-five  or  thirty  feet  long. 
That  whale  's  a  small  cow,  and  she  must  have  a  small  calf 
under  her  fin.  That 's  what  the  sharks  are  after,  and 
they  '11  get  it,  too,  if  we  don't  get  a  breeze  pretty  quick." 

Small  difference  it  could  make  to  the  whale  what  got  it ! 
They  were  still  keeping  up  the  fight  vigorously  when  a 
cooler  breath  came  out  of  the  southeast.  It  was  only  a  puff, 
but  soon  there  was  another,  which  lasted  longer;  and  be- 
fore many  minutes  the  breath  of  cooler  air  was  steady, 
and  growing  stronger.  We  were  just  on  the  northern  edge 
of  the  southeast  trades,  and  had  edged  into  them,  or  they 
had  passed  us,  which  amounted  to  the  same  thing.  Captain 
Nelson  had  been  edging  to  the  southward  for  some  days, 
with  just  that  in  view. 

We  gathered  way  again,  and  when  we  had  got  near 
enough,  Captain  Nelson  ordered  Mr.  Baker  and  Mr. 
Brown  to  lower.  The  order  he  gave,  however,  reduced  Mr. 
Baker  to  a  stupefied  silence. 

"  I  don't  want  you  should  hurt  the  whales,"  he  said 
quietly,  as  if  it  were  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world 
for  a  whaler  not  to  want  to  hurt  whales.  "  Drive  off  those 
sharks,  and  kill  them  if  you  can.  I  'm  going  to  try  to  keep 
those  spouts  in  sight,"  he  went  on,  probably  thinking  that 
some  explanation  was  necessary,  or  his  mates  might  think 
he  was  losing  his  mind.  "  I  'm  going  to  keep  those  spouts 
in  sight,  and  see  if  they  don't  lead  us  to  something  worth 
while."  And  he  turned  away,  muttering  that  it  should  be 
hereabouts  if  it  was  anywhere. 

We  lowered,  and  pulled  hard  for  the  scene  of  combat. 
It  was  full  time,  for  the  cow  was  bitten  and  torn  in 
many  places,  and  could  not  have  kept  up  the  fight  much 
longer.  The  larger  whale  —  a  bull,  I  thought  —  seemed 


SHARK  SANDPAPER  827 

about  ready  to  give  it  up,  and  take  himself  off.  There  were 
six  of  the  big  sharks,  but  one  of  them  was  so  badly  hurt 
by  one  of  the  whales  that  he  could  barely  drag  himself 
off,  and  all  of  them  had  been  marked.  The  insensibility  of 
sharks  to  pain  or  injury  is  an  extraordinary  thing.  This 
one  had  been  cut  nearly  in  two,  but  he  had  kept  up  the 
fight,  his  viscera  trailing  behind  him  in  a  long  festoon, 
until  one  of  the  others  had  relieved  him  of  them.  The  other 
sharks  did  not  molest  him  further,  being  too  intent  on 
getting  the  more  delicate  morsel,  which  we  could  see  by 
the  side  of  its  mother.  Nearly  the  whole  of  one  side  of  its 
flukes  had  been  bitten  off,  and  it  was  somewhat  torn  in 
several  places,  although  not  seriously  injured. 

We  put  the  sharks  to  flight,  killing  three,  after  one  of 
them,  in  his  thrashings,  had  got  his  tail  into  the  boat,  and 
wiped  me  across  the  cheek.  It  was  like  a  wipe  with  a  rasp, 
or  coarse  sandpaper,  and  took  the  outer  skin  completely 
off  my  right  cheek.  It  was  a  long  time  in  healing,  and  I 
had  to  be  at  my  duties  for  nearly  a  month,  with  half  my 
head  tied  up  as  if  I  had  the  toothache. 

The  whales  were  going,  swimming  slowly,  probably  be- 
cause of  the  injuries  to  the  cow,  and  to  the  reduced  speed 
of  the  calf,  owing  to  the  loss  of  one  fluke.  The  bull  was 
at  some  distance,  but  he  seemed  to  regulate  his  speed  by 
that  of  the  cow.  We  got  back  to  the  ship,  one  side  of  my 
face  a  mass  of  blood,  and  blood  which  had  dripped  into 
my  shirt.  I  must  have  been  a  frightful-looking  object. 
Such  a  hurt  makes  a  great  show,  and  always  looks  much 
worse  than  it  is.  I  do  not  remember  that  I  felt  anything 
more  than  the  inconvenience  of  it,  and  of  having  my  head 
tied  up  for  so  long.  Nobody  thought  it  necessary  to  put 
anything  on  it  —  iodine  or  alcohol,  or  anything  of  the 
kind.  I  drew  a  bucket  of  sea-water,  and  washed  most  of 
the  blood  off,  but  that  was  all. 

We  stood  off  at  once  after  the  whales.  Fortunately,  they 
did  not  swim  directly  to  windward,  and  the  ship  was  ablo 


828  SHE  BLOWS! 

to  make  the  course,  and  to  keep  up  with  them.  They 
seemed  to  be  making  for  some  definite  place,  and  at  night- 
fall we  were  not  far  behind  them.  Even  Mr.  Baker  ap- 
peared to  think  that  the  old  man  knew  what  he  was  about. 
We  reduced  sail  for  the  night,  although  it  could  have  been 
no  better  than  a  guess  on  Captain  Nelson's  part  how  far 
he  should  reduce  speed.  With  the  first  gleam  of  light  — 
a  little  before  six  o'clock,  or  four  bells,  for  we  were  not 
many  degrees  south  of  the  equator  —  our  best  men  were 
aent  to  the  mastheads.  Our  best  lookout  was  the  Admiral, 
a  Kanaka.  There  were  no  spouts  to  be  seen.  We  had  lost 
the  whales.  Sail  was  crowded  on,  and  the  Clearchus  was 
soon  making  good  speed  under  the  steady  trades,  which 
had  grown  much  stronger  since  the  day  before. 

We  held  on  the  course  on  which  we  had  been  sailing  for 
nearly  three  hours.  Then  the  Admiral's  quavering  cry 
came  down  to  us,  for  he  was  the  first  to  see  it. 

"  Ah  bl-o-o-ows !  " 

It  was  a  musical  cry,  but  given  with  indifference.  He 
had  seen  too  many  spouts  to  become  excited  over  two  and 
a  half;  for  he  had  detected  the  little  spout  of  the  calf, 
close  alongside  its  mother.  There  was  no  doubt  that  there 
was  our  quarry,  although  still  miles  away.  We  kept  on 
after  them,  and  continued  to  gain  slowly,  for  another  hour, 
the  officers  keeping  an  eye  on  the  spouts,  which  we  could 
now  see  from  the  deck,  and  occasionally  glancing  up  at 
the  Admiral.  We  had  had  breakfast,  and  I  was  doing  the 
same  thing  as  the  officers,  from  my  perch  on  the  heel  of 
the  bowsprit.  Suddenly  I  saw  the  Admiral  straighten  up. 
He  looked  far  out  ahead  as  if  he  could  not  believe  his 
eyes.  Then  he  gave  an  excited  cry. 

"  Bl-o-ws !  Ah  bl-o-ws !  "  It  was  not  as  musical  as  we 
were  used  to  hear  from  the  Admiral.  "  Blows !  Big  school ! 
Hunnud  whale !  All  over !  "  And  he  waved  his  arm  to  in- 
clude a  wide  arc. 

I  could  not  see  the  new  spouts,  of  course,  from  my  place 


ANN  McKIM'S  HAT  329 

on  deck,  and  I  sprang  into  the  fore  rigging,  clasping  my 
old  glass,  which  I  had  brought  up  with  me  after  break- 
fast. Many  others  of  the  men  swarmed  up,  but  I  was  first, 
and  I  went  rapidly  up  as  far  as  I  could  get,  and  put  the 
glass  to  my  eyes. 

I  did  not  see  them  at  first,  for  it  was  about  four  bells  — 
ten  o'clock  in  the  forenoon  —  I  was  looking  to  the  east- 
ward, directly  into  the  glare,  and  I  was  expecting  to  see 
them  nearer  than  they  were ;  but  at  last  I  saw  them.  There 
were  many  spouts  in  the  air  at  once  over  a  wide  arc  of  the 
sea;  and  the  sun  shining  on  them  all,  and  glorifying  them 
into  tiny  ostrich  plumes,  each  on  Ann  McKim's  hat. 

Every  time  that  I  saw  a  sperm  whale's  spout  with  the 
sun  shining  upon  it,  I  thought  of  that  hat  of  Ann  McKim. 
Ann  McKim  was  a  few  months  older  than  I  —  she  is  yet, 
although  that  fact  is  not  generally  published  —  and  when 
I  left  home  she  had  just  got  her  first  plumed  hat.  It  was 
a  big,  broad-brimmed  hat  of  dark  blue  satin  —  or  velvet, 
I  do  not  know  which  —  with  a  generous  white  ostrich 
plume  sticking  up  from  the  brim  at  just  the  angle  of  a 
sperm  whale's  spout.  I  know  she  had  bought  it  with  her 
own  money,  and  had  trimmed  it  herself,  for  she  told  me 
so.  No  doubt  such  a  hat  was  absurd,  especially  on  a  girl 
of  fifteen,  but  it  did  not  seem  absurd  to  her,  nor  to  me 
when  I  saw  her  with  it  on,  the  Sunday  before  I  came 
away.  But  Ann  McKim  was  sweet  and  lovely,  and  she 
would  have  lent  beauty  to  any  hat  she  chose  to  wear. 

The  large  school  of  whales  did  not  seem  to  be  going 
anywhere  in  particular  as  a  body,  although  the  individu- 
als of  the  school  continually  moved  about,  or  sounded,  or 
came  up  again.  They  may  have  been  feeding.  The  bull  and 
the  wounded  cow  and  calf  which  we  had  been  chasing 
were  evidently  meaning  to  join  the  school,  and  we  fol- 
lowed them,  getting  all  the  boats  ready  for  lowering  as  we 
went.  We  were  now  getting  the  full  sweep  of  the  trades, 
steady  and  strong,  and  we  gained  on  the  three  whales,  so 


330  SHE  BLOWS! 

that  we  were  in  a  position  to  see  well  what  happened  when 
they  neared  the  school. 

A  big  bull  swam  out  from  the  school  to  inspect  the  new- 
comers. He  was  not  old  and  scarred,  as  most  of  the  lone 
whales  were,  but  as  big  as  any  of  them,  and  in  his  prime. 
Although  we  were  not  far  off,  that  means  perhaps  half  a 
mile;  and  as  but  little  of  the  whales  was  out  of  water,  I 
could  not  see  with  any  certainty  what  went  on.  The  big 
bull  at  once  joined  the  cow,  and  swam  beside  her  for  some 
distance,  apparently  trying  to  persuade  her  to  leave  her 
lord  and  come  with  him;  an  unnecessary  proceeding,  as 
that  was  just  what  she  was  doing.  He  seemed  to  pay  no 
attention  to  the  calf.  It  was  no  concern  of  his.  The  cow 
swam  on,  and  took  no  notice  of  him,  so  far  as  I  could  see, 
but  the  other  bull  did  not  like  it.  He  was  not  so  very  much 
smaller  than  the  big  one,  and  before  I  realized  that  there 
was  anything  on  the  programme,  here  he  was,  coming  for 
the  big  bull,  fire  in  his  eye,  I  could  imagine,  and  jaw 
dropped.  When  he  was  a  hundred  feet  away,  he  turned 
over,  nearly  on  his  back,  apparently,  for  I  saw  his  jaw 
projecting  above  the  surface  of  the  water. 

The  big  bull  was  aware  of  the  other  just  in  time  to  slip 
out  of  the  way,  but  not  in  time  to  escape  entirely.  The 
jaw  closed  on  his  small,  and  I  saw  the  wounds  made  by 
the  teeth,  which  tore  out  great  pieces  of  blubber  and  flesh. 
By  what  seemed  agreement,  the  two  big  whales  turned 
about  as  soon  as  they  could  and  went  at  each  other  full 
tilt.  Their  jaws  locked,  and  they  wrestled  there  for  a  min- 
ute, each  seeming  to  try  to  break  the  jaw  of  the  other,  and 
tearing  and  thrashing  the  water  into  boiling  fountains  of 
spray.  As  we  found  out  later,  great  gobs  of  flesh  were  torn 
from  the  sides  of  their  heads.  After  a  while  they  broke 
their  hold,  I  could  not  see  how,  and  they  backed  off  and 
went  at  it  again. 

This  time  the  fight  was  fiercer  than  before,  and  it  was 
impossible  to  see  what  was  happening,  or  to  see  anything 


FIGHT  BETWEEN  TWO  BULLS       331 

but  white  water.  This  round  was  a  little  longer  than  the 
first.  The  performance  was  repeated  two  or  three  times, 
and  then  I  saw  the  boiling  white  water  gradually  become 
quiet.  The  two  great  bodies  lay  there  for  a  few  seconds, 
head  to  head;  then  the  smaller  of  the  whales  moved  off 
slowly  away  from  the  school.  He  seemed  to  have  lost  all 
interest  in  the  cow,  and  the  bigger  one,  satisfied  that  the 
other  had  definitely  given  up  the  fight,  let  him  go  in 
peace.  Both  whales  seemed  to  be  in  distress.  I  saw  the  big 
one,  as  he  swam  to  join  the  school,  raise  his  head  com- 
pletely out  of  water  two  or  three  times,  and  his  jaw 
seemed  to  be  slewed  around  so  that  it  would  not  close 
properly.  He  had  difficulty  in  moving  it  at  all. 

Up  to  this  point  it  had  not  seemed  to  be  a  propitious 
time  for  lowering,  but  when  the  fight  was  over,  Mr.  Tilton 
lowered  at  once,  and  went  after  the  vanquished  bull.  He 
was  still  moving  slowly,  and  the  boat  easily  overtook  him, 
and  got  fast.  He  made  no  fight  at  all,  but  lay  fin  out  in 
fifteen  minutes.  His  jaw  was  hanging  down  queerly,  and 
when  we  got  him  alongside  and  began  to  cut-in,  we  found 
that  it  had  been  broken  short  off,  and  was  hanging  by  the 
flesh.  Many  of  his  teeth  were  stove  out,  and  he  had  terrible 
wounds  in  the  head. 

Meanwhile  the  ship  had  kept  off  after  the  school,  which 
began  to  show  signs  of  moving  along.  We  got  pretty  near 
it,  however,  and  lowered  three  more  boats,  but  we  did  not 
succeed  in  getting  whales  of  any  size.  The  school  con- 
sisted principally  of  rather  small  cows,  under  the  charge 
of  two  or  three  bulls  as  schoolmasters.  We  could  not  find 
the  bull  which  had  been  fighting,  and  did  not  look  for  the 
others,  for  schoolmasters  are  always  pugnacious  devils. 
They  have  to  be.  We  managed  to  get  three  small  cows  of 
about  twenty  barrels  apiece  before  the  school  was  well 
under  way  and  left  us.  One  of  these  cows  was  lost  during 
the  night,  stripped  by  sharks  and  broken  adrift,  and  much 
of  another  fell  a  prey  to  the  sharks.  Four  whales  at  once 


832  SHE  BLOWS! 

alongside  is  almost  too  much  to  take  care  of.  We  got  the 
blubber  all  hove  in  by  sunset  of  the  next  day,  and  the  car- 
casses cut  adrift.  They  made  only  a  hundred  and  twelve 
barrels  altogether,  only  about  as  much  as  we  might  have 
expected  to  get  from  one  really  big  whale  in  chose 
waters. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

As  soon  as  the  trying-out  was  finished,  we  stood  off  to  the 
southeast,  or  a  little  southerly  of  that-  The  trades  here 
were  blowing  strong  from  the  east,  and  that  was  as  close 
as  the  Clearchus  would  saiL  After  a  day  of  tins,  we  came 
about  on  the  other  tack.  We  could  none  of  us  understand 
why,  unless  some  of  the  officers  did,  but  the  large  school 
of  whales  had  disappeared  almost  directly  to  windward, 
and  Captain  Nelson  may  have  been  trying  to  see  where 
they  had  gone.  There  was  a  fairly  rapid  drift  of  the  sur- 
face water,  also  from  the  east,  as  would  be  expected.  Al- 
though I  knew  practically  nothing  about  it,  I  had  formed 
the  theory  that  whales  generally  travelled  against  the 
warmer  ocean  currents.  I  had  not  carried  my  theory  so  far 
as  to  account  for  their  doing  so,  but  I  supposed  it  had  to 
do  with  the  food  supply.  That  seems  reasonable  now,  for  it 
is  at  the  bottom  of  all  migrations;  not  comfort,  nor  pleas- 
ure, but  food,  and  the  ease  of  getting  it. 

We  did  not  see  that  school  again,  but  early  in  the  morn- 
ing of  the  second  day,  being  then  in  longitude  162°  W., 
latitude  8*  S.,  by  the  captain's  —  and  my  own  —  observa- 
tions, we  came  upon  three  islands.  They  were  very  small 
islands,  roughly  about  a  mile  long  and  half  a  mile  wide, 
each  a  sort  of  crescent,  and  forming,  as  I  now  think, 
parts  of  the  rim  of  a  crater  but  recently  elevated  above 
the  surface.  They  were  not  shown  on  any  of  our  charts, 
and  could  not  have  been  exposed  to  the  sun  and  winds 
and  waves  for  many  years,  for  they  were  almost  utterly 
bare;  perhaps  a  hundred  feet  high  at  the  highest  point, 
and  showing  nothing  but  rock  and  dried  mud  and  ooze 
from  the  bed  of  the  sea.  We  did  not  land  on  them,  but  at 
only  one  place  could  I  make  out  with  my  glass  a  spot  of 


834  SHE  BLOWS!" 

green,  and  that  was  only  about  a  couple  of  feet  square. 
Possibly  some  bird  had  dropped  a  seed  there,  or  a  coconut 
had  drifted  ashore,  or  the  seeds  of  beach  grass  in  a  mass 
of  drifting  seaweed.  Beaches  had  begun  to  form,  especially 
on  the  windward  side. 

The  captain  having  satisfied  himself  about  the  waters, 
we  began  cruising  for  whales  in  earnest,  for  we  had  seen 
a  couple  of  pods  earlier  in  the  day.  We  had  almost  sunk 
the  islands  below  the  horizon  before  we  raised  another 
spout.  While  we  were  in  this  neighborhood  a  day  rarely 
passed  without  our  seeing  any.  There  were  two  spouts 
this  time.  We  worked  the  ship  to  windward  of  them,  and 
lowered  three  boats,  leaving  Mr.  Tilton  and  Captain  Cof- 
fin aboard  the  ship.  Before  we  reached  them,  the  whales 
sounded,  without  having  seen  us,  and  we  waited,  tossing 
on  the  seas,  for  them  to  rise. 

When  we  had  waited  for  nearly  an  hour,  they  suddenly 
spouted  near  Mr.  Baker  and  Mr.  Macy,  at  the  other  end 
of  the  line  from  us.  We  had  not  seen  them  rise.  All  three 
boats  started  for  them.  We  had  a  long  way  to  go,  and  it 
was  hard  pulling,  for  the  sea  was  heavy.  The  ship  was 
well  to  windward,  and  the  whales  had  spread  out.  None 
of  us  could  see  what  was  going  on  ahead  of  us,  but  we 
were  putting  our  last  ounce  of  strength  into  pulling  —  at 
least,  I  was  —  when  Mr.  Brown  told  us  to  take  it  easy, 
for  they  had  sounded  again.  I  was  glad  that  they  had 
shown  so  much  sense. 

Those  whales  kept  up  that  sort  of  thing  for  five  risings, 
always  working  to  windward  slowly,  and  the  ship  work- 
ing to  windward  ahead  of  us.  It  got  to  be  nearly  sunset, 
and  the  ship  showed  a  little  white  flag  at  her  peak,  recall- 
ing us.  We  did  not  know  it,  however,  as  we  were  keeping 
head  to  the  sea,  and  the  ship  was  behind  our  backs.  Mr. 
Brown  knew  it.  At  that  moment  one  of  the  whales  rounded 
out  directly  astern,  and  head  on.  As  it  was  a  good  chance, 
Mr.  Brown  ignored  the  signal,  heaving  on  the  steering 
oar,  and  laying  the  boat  around. 


A  FAST  WHALE  335 

"■  Now,"  he  said,  "  a  dozen  good  strokes,  boys." 

We  gave  him  a  dozen,  and  then  a  dozen  more.  He 
nodded  to  the  Prince,  who  took  in  his  oar  swiftly  and 
silently,  and  stood  up.  The  black  head  of  the  whale  shot 
by,  and  Mr.  Brown  threw  all  his  weight  on  the  oar,  bring- 
ing the  boat's  head  around. 

"  Give  it  to  him !  "  he  cried.  "  Stern  all !  " 

The  Prince  had  darted;  he  threw  his  second  iron  just  as 
we  bumped  terrifically  into  the  body  of  the  whale.  Then 
we  backed  off  as  the  flukes  went  into  the  air,  came  down 
on  the  surface  thunderously,  and  swept  from  side  to  side. 
Again  his  flukes  went  up,  and  the  whale  sounded.  He 
sounded  at  great  speed  and  the  line  whistled  out  of  the 
tub.  I  confess  that  I  was  afraid  of  it  as  the  coils  writhed 
past  my  hands  and  pounded  a  tattoo  on  my  oar.  One  tub 
was  out.  There  had  been  no  time  for  Mr.  Brown  and  the 
Prince  to  change  places,  and  a  "  drug  "  was  being  bent  on 
to  the  end  of  the  line  in  the  second  tub,  as  fast  as  the  men 
could  work.  It  was  no  sooner  fast  than  it  was  whisked  out 
of  their  hands  and  overboard. 

Mr.  Brown  smiled  slowly.  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  that  was 
soon  settled.  Looks  as  if  the  joke  was  on  us.  Guess  we  'd 
better  have  let  him  alone." 

The  whale  had  gone  off  with  two  irons,  two  tubs  of  line, 
and  a  drug.  The  chance  was  that  we  should  never  see 
any  of  them  again,  for  it  was  almost  too  dark  to  see  any- 
thing, and  it  would  be  pitch-black  in  half  an  hour.  We 
turned  and  pulled  easily  toward  the  ship,  which  was 
showing  a  light,  two  miles  to  windward.  The  boat  lan- 
terns were  set  before  we  had  gone  far. 

We  had  made  perhaps  half  the  distance  to  the  ship 
when  we  heard,  out  of  the  darkness  ahead,  shouts  and 
commands  and  a  commotion  in  the  water  that  was  more 
than  the  wash  of  the  sea.  Mr.  Brown  peered  ahead. 

He  could  not  make  out  much.  "  Stand  up,  Tony,"  he 
said,  "  and  see  what  you  make  it.  By  the  sounds  it 's  Mr. 
Baker,  and  he  'a  fast." 


336  SHE  BLOWS! 

The  Prince  stood  up.  Those  black  men  hare  a  strange 
faculty  of  seeing  in  the  dark.  He  reported  that  it  was  Mr. 
Baker  fast  to  a  whale,  and  he  thought  it  was  our  whale. 

By  this  time  we  were  almost  up  with  the  commotion.  Mr. 
Brown  headed  us  over  that  way,  and  we  pulled  harder. 
As  soon  as  we  were  within  hail  he  called  out,  asking  if  the 
whale  had  irons  in  him.  I  could  not  see  what  the  state  of 
affairs  was,  for  I  had  to  keep  my  eyes  astern;  but  I 
judged  from  the  sounds  that  Mr.  Baker  was  close  along- 
side, and  was  lancing,  or  just  about  to.  The  answer  was 
that  the  whale  had  irons  in  him. 

"  Those  irons  are  mine,"  Mr.  Brown  shouted,  "  and  I 
want  to  kill  him !  " 

I  was  surprised,  for  I  did  not  see  then,  and  I  do  not 
see  now,  why  it  should  be  any  pleasure  to  a  man  like  Mr. 
Brown  to  pump  a  lance  up  and  down  in  the  in'ards  of  a 
whale.  If  it  had  been  Mr.  Baker  I  could  have  understood 
it. 

Between  grunts  and  curses  Mr.  Baker  replied  that  it 
was  too  late,  for  he  had  just  attended  to  that  matter,  and 
we  had  better  go  astern  a  little,  as  the  whale  was  going 
into  his  flurry. 

Mr.  Brown  said  nothing  —  there  was  nothing  to  say  — 
and  the  whale  proceeded  to  turn  fin  out  without  any 
flurry  at  all. 

Mr.  Baker  then  set  his  lights  to  signal  the  ship,  and  she 
bore  down  upon  us.  It  was  a  long,  hard  job  getting  that 
whale  alongside  in  the  pitch  darkness  and  the  heavy  sea, 
and  it  was  not  done  and  the  men  on  board  until  very  late 
in  the  evening.  Even  then  it  was  not  done,  we  found.  Ly- 
ing hove  to,  as  we  were,  the  ship  forging  ahead  a  little, 
with  a  very  heavy  sea  running,  she  would  bring  up,  at 
every  roll,  with  a  tremendous  jerk  on  the  fluke  chain.  At 
last  the  chain  parted  —  shackle  pin  snapped  —  and  the 
carcass  began  to  drift  away.  It  was  Mr.  Macy's  watch, 
and  he  sprang  quickly  into  the  quarter  boat,  bent  the  line 


A  GAME  OF  HIDE-AND-SEEK        337 

to  an  iron,  and  struck  as  the  body  drifted  beneath  him.  He 
checked  it  with  the  line,  and  managed  to  get  another  iron 
in,  fast  to  a  second  line,  before  it  had  drifted  out  of  reach. 
Then  the  lines  were  paid  out  to  their  whole  length,  and  the 
spring  of  the  lines  held  the  carcass  until  sunrise.  In  the 
morning  we  had  all  our  work  to  do  over  again,  but  we 
got  the  blubber  hove  aboard  before  sunset.  The  whale 
made  sixty-five  barrels. 

While  we  were  trying-out  that  whale  we  raised  another 
pod  or  small  school.  It  was  early  in  the  afternoon.  The 
wind  had  gone  down  somewhat,  but  was  still  strong,  and 
the  whales  were  basking  lazily  on  the  surface,  laying 
flukes  and  fins.  That  sounds  as  if  they  were  a  flock  of 
hens,  curiously  occupied.  They  were  pretty  near,  although 
not  close  aboard,  and  it  was  too  much  for  the  captain,  for 
these  were  large  whales.  Captain  Nelson  was  getting  more 
excited  as  the  ship  got  more  nearly  filled  up,  and  as  he  saw 
the  abundance  of  large  whales.  It  seemed  to  give  him  a 
physical  pain  to  realize  that  here  was  a  fortune  at  his 
hand,  and  he  could  not  take  it  away.  He  could  be  de- 
pended upon  to  come  to  the  same  place  the  next  voyage, 
but  somebody  else  might  get  there  first.  In  this  case  he 
called  away  every  man  that  could  be  spared,  and  lowered 
two  boats. 

We  got  none  of  those  whales.  We  took  every  precaution 
to  avoid  scaring  them,  even  to  the  prohibition  of  talking 
as  we  ran  down  under  sail.  There  was  plenty  of  sea  to 
drown  any  noise  that  we  might  have  made,  but  we  were  a 
silent  company.  In  spite  of  all  our  care,  however,  we  could 
not  get  nearer  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  At  about  that  dis- 
tance the  nearest  rounded  out  flukes,  and  went  under ;  and 
the  others  followed  slowly  and  solemnly,  without  fuss, 
merely  going  under  the  surface  and  swimming.  We 
rounded  to,  not  knowing  whether  they  had  gone  deep,  or 
where  they  might  come  up  again;  but  there  they  were, 
almost    immediately,  spouting  lazily,  half  a  mile  away, 


338  SHE  BLOWS! 

basking  on  the  surface,  and  keeping  exact  run  of  tha 
boats.  We  kept  up  that  game  of  hide-and-seek  all  the 
afternoon.  We  could  not  get  near  them,  whatever  we  did, 
although  they  did  not  run  away.  Toward  sunset  we  pulled 
back  to  the  ship,  rather  crestfallen,  and  left  that  pod  of 
seventy-barrel  whales  to  go  to  bed  in  peace  or  to  indulge 
in  dissipation,  as  they  pleased.  There  were  enough  whales 
there  to  fill  us  up  entirely  and  one  or  two  over.  Five  or 
six  such  whales  would  have  filled  us  up,  and  more. 

We  finished  our  trying-out  without  seeing  any  more 
whales,  but  before  the  cleaning-up  was  more  than  begun, 
we  raised  a  lone  spout.  We  lowered  three  boats  for  him, 
but  mine  was  not  among  them,  and  I  watched  the  proceed- 
ings through  my  glass.  They  caught  up  with  him  about  a 
mile  from  the  ship.  Perhaps  it  is  more  exact  to  say  that  he 
caught  them  there,  for  he  attacked  the  first  boat  as  soon 
as  he  got  a  sight  of  it,  driving  at  it  at  once  with  his  mouth 
open.  It  was  Mr.  Baker's  boat,  and  Starbuck  had  no 
chance  to  do  anything,  for  the  whale  went  a  little  under,  a 
short  distance  from  the  boat,  came  up  under  it,  belly  up, 
and  like  lightning,  and  caught  it  fairly  forward  of  amid- 
ships. He  came  up  so  hard  that  he  carried  it  into  the  air, 
bow  first,  and  the  men  all  fell  out.  Then  he  gave  it  a  little 
shake,  as  a  terrier  shakes  a  rat,  but  he  did  not  close  hard, 
although  he  sprung  all  the  planks.  The  boat  then  slipped 
out  of  his  jaws  and  into  the  water,  where  it  lay  for  a  few 
moments,  leaking  like  a  sieve. 

The  whale  nosed  about  among  the  debris,  butting  the 
boat  from  side  to  side,  cutting  with  his  flukes  at  every 
floating  thing  that  touched  them,  mast,  sail,  oars,  tubs,  and 
water-kegs.  Mr.  Tilton  came  up  while  he  was  so  engaged, 
and  Azevedo  put  two  irons  into  him ;  whereupon  he  turned 
upon  Mr.  Tilton's  boat,  and  before  they  could  do  any- 
thing toward  making  their  escape,  he  served  it  as  he  had 
served  Mr.  Baker's,  but  stove  it  completely. 

There  were  now  two  boats'  crews  swimming  about  in 


A  HARD  FIGHT  339 

the  sea,  and  making  away,  as  fast  as  they  could,  from  the 
neighborhood  of  the  stove  boats.  I  tried  to  count  heads, 
and  although  I  could  not  be  certain,  because  of  their  con- 
tinual bobbing  out  of  sight  behind  seas,  I  thought  that 
they  were  all  there.  The  truculent  whale  was  having  a 
good  time,  cutting  about  amid  the  floating  wreckage, 
knocking  the  parts  of  the  boats  out  of  the  way  with  his 
head,  and  instantly  slamming  anything  that  he  felt  with 
his  flukes.  In  this  process  he  succeeded  in  getting  himself 
thoroughly  entangled  in  the  line,  so  that  he  appeared  al- 
most as  if  he  were  enclosed  in  a  net.  Mr.  Brown's  boat 
was  then  called  away  to  help,  and  I  could  not  follow  the 
fight  closely,  but  was  to  get  into  it  instead. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  'Macy  had  been  trying  to  get  into  it.  It 
was  inviting  disaster  to  go  in  and  put  an  iron  into  the 
whale,  but  Mr.  Macy  would  have  done  it  if  he  could.  He 
simply  could  not  do  it,  the  whale  thrashed  about  so.  At 
last,  in  his  ragings,  the  whale  saw  Mr.  Macy's  boat  just 
beyond  the  circle  of  wreckage,  and  made  for  it.  By  skil- 
ful use  of  the  steering  oar  Mr.  Macy  avoided  his  rush, 
and  Hall,  the  boatsteerer,  seizing  the  whaling  gun,  fired 
a  bomb  into  him  as  he  passed  just  beyond  darting  dis- 
tance. That  was  twice  repeated  before  we  came  up,  with- 
out noticeable  effect  upon  the  whale,  and  Mr.  Macy  had 
all  he  could  do  to  keep  the  boat  out  of  those  jaws,  for  the 
whale  had  taken  the  offensive,  and  was  doing  well.  I  had 
this  part  of  the  story  from  George  Hall,  himself,  after  we 
got  back  to  the  ship. 

We  had  been  taking  down  an  empty  cask,  with  one  of 
our  canvas  flags,  such  as  we  used  on  our  drugs,  stuck  in 
the  bung-hole.  When  we  got  as  near  as  we  could,  we  left 
this  cask  floating,  and  retired  a  little,  putting  the  cask 
between  us  and, the  whale.  The  light  cask,  as  large  as  a 
hogshead,  floating  high,  soon  drew  the  attention  of  the 
whale,  which  left  Mr.  Macy,  and  went  for  it.  The  antics 
of  the  cask  under  the  repeated  buttings  of  the  whale  were 


S40  SHE  BLOWS! 

comical.  It  was  nearly  as  light,  in  comparison  with  the 
strength  of  the  whale,  as  a  football.  When  he  struck  it 
with  his  nose  it  gave  out  a  resounding  Ping-g!  and  leaped 
into  the  air.  This  exasperated  him  further.  He  could  see 
nothing,  think  of  nothing,  but  that  resounding  cask.  He 
chased  it,  and  butted  it  again.  Again  the  loud,  deep 
Ping-g!  He  butted  it  again  and  again;  chased  it  and 
knocked  it  from  side  to  side,  made  frantic  by  its  elastic 
resistance.  Our  whole  crew  went  into  spasms  of  laughter, 
regardless  of  the  fact  that  we  had  something  else  to  do 
than  to  laugh  at  the  antics  of  a  crazy  whale,  and  that,  at 
any  instant,  he  might  transfer  his  attention  to  us.  The 
loaded  boat  would  not  act  as  the  cask  did. 

We  edged  cautiously  toward  the  whale,  Mr.  Brown 
keeping  out  of  his  range  of  vision,  and  Mr.  Macy  creeping 
up  on  his  other  side.  Mr.  Macy  fired  another  bomb  into 
him  before  the  Prince  could  dart  or  lance.  He  was  pre- 
pared to  do  either,  but  at  the  report  of  Mr.  Macy's  gun, 
Mr.  Brown  told  him  to  use  our  gun.  The  whale  had  given 
a  little  convulsive  shiver  on  receiving  the  bomb,  but  there 
was  no  other  result,  although  the  bomb  must  have  ex- 
ploded in  his  in'ards  somewhere,  as  must  the  other  three 
that  Hall  had  sent  into  him.  The  Prince  fired  twice,  and 
Mr.  Macy  once  more,  which  exhausted  his  stock  of  bombs ; 
but  the  whale  did  not  relax  his  attentions  to  the  cask, 
which  seemed  to  exert  a  peculiar  fascination.  All  this  time 
he  was  butting  it,  and  it  was  responding  with  a  Ping-g! 
and  a  leap  into  the  air. 

Suddenly  he  caught  sight  of  the  ship,  which  had  borne 
down  upon  us,  and  was  pretty  near.  He  left  the  cask, 
headed  for  her,  and  went  under.  We  could  do  nothing  but 
watch.  After  butting  the  ship,  the  whale  must  have  come 
up  on  the  other  side  of  her,  for  the  men  on  deck  ran  over 
to  that  side.  A  few  seconds  later  I  heard  the  reports  of 
whaling  guns  —  they  are  not  to  be  mistaken  —  and  then 
more,  and  Mr.  Brown  and  Mr.  Macy  proceeded  quietly  to 


ELEVEN  BOMBS  AND  THE  LANCE    341 

gathering  in  the  swimming  crews,  who  had  been  in  the 
water  about  an  hour.  We  did  not  take  the  stove  boats  and 
their  gear  on  that  trip,  but  pulled  at  once  to  the  ship. 

On  getting  to  her  we  found  the  whale  dead  alongside, 
right  in  position,  and  the  men  getting  the  fluke  chain 
ready.  He  had  had  eleven  bombs  exploded  in  him;  but 
what  finished  him  was  the  thorough  lancing  by  Captain 
Coffin,  who  had  got  out  on  the  wales,  held  on  by  the  main 
chains,  leaned  out  and  pumped  his  lance  up  and  down  in 
his  life.  The  bombs  must  have  done  their  work  after  a 
fashion,  for  before  he  was  lanced  the  whale  had  vomited 
up  a  great  number  of  pieces  of  cuttle  fish.  Among  the 
pieces  of  squid  were  the  remnants  of  a  shark  of  good  size. 
All  the  fragments  had  not  disappeared  when  we  got  there. 

Poor  Pct<"r.  wet  as  he  was,  and  the  sailmaker  had  to  go 
at  once  into  the  hold  to  see  what  damage  had  been  done. 
They  were  down  there  three  hours,  but  could  find  no 
damage,  and  the  ship  was  not  leaking  more  than  she  did 
before,  which  was  but  a  few  strokes  a  day,  and  just 
enough  to  keep  her  sweet  —  if  a  whaler  can  be  called 
sweet.  The  whale  must  have  struck  square  upon  the  keel, 
not  with  full  force.  Meanwhile  we  pulled  back  again,  got 
the  stove  boats  and  their  gear,  and  pulled  to  the  ship. 
More  work  for  Peter.  But  that  whale  tried  out  over  ninety 
barrels. 

That  was  the  last  fighting  whale  that  we  met.  We  were 
very  nearly  filled  up,  but  Captain  Nelson  could  not  seem 
to  let  well  enough  alone.  We  kept  on  taking  whales,  easily 
taken  and  of  a  good  size,  until  the  ship  would  not  have 
held  another  bucket  of  oil  anywhere.  Even  the  try-pots 
were  full,  and  the  cooling-tank,  and  the  spare  pots  on 
deck,  and  every  receptacle  that  he  could  think  of.  He  went 
so  far  as  to  get  some  of  our  water-casks  on  deck,  empty 
out  the  water,  and  fill  them  with  oil,  saying  that  there  were 
plenty  of  places  where  we  could  get  water  on  the  way 
home.  He  was  going  home  by  Cape  Horn.  I  only  wonder 


342  SHE  BLOWS! 

that  he  did  not  fill  the  copper  dippers  and  the  tin  cans 
with  oil.  No  doubt  he  would  have  done  so  if  they  had 
held  enough  to  make  any  appreciable  difference.  We  had 
over  twenty-six  hundred  barrels  of  oil  on  board,  and 
twenty-four  hundred  was  all  we  were  supposed  to  hold. 

He  went  back  to  take  a  last  look  at  the  islands,  and 
make  more  careful  observations.  It  did  not  take  long,  only 
a  few  hours,  for  it  happened  that  they  were  in  sight  at 
our  last  trying-out.  In  all  our  cruising  in  that  neighbor- 
hood we  had  never  been  far  from  them,  often  within 
thirty  miles  or  so,  their  barren  heights  in  plain  sight  on  a 
fairly  clear  day.  I  never  saw  a  figure  of  greater  dejection 
and  melancholy  than  Captain  Nelson  when  we  came  in 
sight  of  the  leeward  side.  There  was  a  school  of  large 
whales,  perhaps  twenty-five  or  thirty  of  them  basking  on 
the  surface.  They  were  very  tame,  so  tame  that  we  nearly 
ran  into  two  of  them  before  they  would  move  out  of  the 
course  of  the  ship.  They  seemed  to  know  that  we  were  a 
full  ship,  and  that  we  could  not  take  any  more  if  we 
wanted  to.  Captain  Nelson  almost  groaned  aloud. 

We  bore  away  to  the  southward,  intending  to  make 
Tahiti,  to  get  more  water-casks,  and  a  fresh  supply  of 
water.  Tahiti  lies  about  southeast  from  our  point  of  de- 
parture, but  we  were  obliged  to  start  to  the  south  to  take 
advantage  of  the  trades.  Peter  was  busy  in  making  new 
boats  out  of  the  remains  of  the  two  which  had  been  stove 
two  or  three  weeks  before.  He  did  not  hurry  at  his  work, 
for  he  was  pretty  tired,  as  we  all  were.  The  rest  of  us  did 
nothing  to  speak  of,  merely  such  patching  of  rigging  as 
was  necessary. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

There  was  no  incident  until  we  got  within  sight  of  Tahiti. 
I  was  leaning  against  the  bench,  watching  Peter's  leis- 
urely progress  with  the  boat.  This  boat  was  the  one  which 
had  been  cut  in  two  by  the  whale.  The  other  one  was  fin- 
ished, painted,  and  bottom  up  on  the  after  house.  Captain 
Nelson  meant  to  trade  all  his  spare  boats,  which  had  been 
stove,  among  the  islands.  Not  that  those  boats  were  not 
good  and  seaworthy  —  Peter's  workmanship  could  not  be 
other  than  that;  but  the  captain  seemed  to  think  that  they 
were  more  desirable  for  trading  purposes  than  for  chasing 
whales.  I  did  not  know  about  that,  but  there  was  no  more 
chasing  whales  to  be  done  on  that  voyage.  Whaleboats 
were  much  in  demand  in  all  the  islands,  and  would  bring 
a  good  price  in  trade.  So  these  boats,  glistening  in  their 
coats  of  fresh  paint,  were  put  on  the  after  house,  and  cov- 
ered with  an  old  sail  to  keep  them  from  blistering  in  the 
hot  sun. 

Peter  had  been  saying  nothing,  but  pottering  pleasantly 
about  his  pleasant  work,  a  half-smile  on  his  leathery 
face.  There  was  a  fascination  for  me  in  watching  Peter, 
and  I  had  said  nothing  either.  There  is  always  a  fascina- 
tion in  watching  a  thoroughgoing  workman,  but  especially 
a  boatbuilder  or  a  shipbuilder  or  a  blacksmith;  a  real 
smith,  not  merely  a  shoer  of  horses.  It  is  so  with  me,  at 
least,  although  there  is  almost  as  much  in  watching  a 
really  skilful  cabinet-maker  like  Oman.  I  suppose  the 
cabinet-maker's  work  should  possess  more  fascination,  as 
such  a  man  has  progressed  several  grades  beyond  the 
others.  Perhaps  it  is  a  little  beyond  me,  or  it  may  be  be- 
cause of  my  contempt  for  glue.  A  cabinet-maker  uses  a 
deal  of  glue. 

Peter  looked  up  at  last,  and  glanced  ahead.  When  he 


344  SHE  BLOWS! 

looked  down  at  his  work  again  his  half-smile  had  broad- 
ened into  a  grin. 

"  There  's  Tahiti,  lad,"  he  said. 

I  nodded.  "  Yes,  I  know.  There  's  nothing  to  see  yet." 

Peter  was  bending  over  his  work,  and  he  gave  a  queer 
chuckle. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "  You  never  can  tell  what 
you  may  see  until  you  look.  You  might  see  an  old  friend, 
Timmie.  A  real  sailor  always  knows  what  shows  above  the 
horizon,  and  sometimes  what 's  beyond,  if  it  ain't  too 
far." 

This  speech  of  Peter's  nettled  me  a  little,  for  I  thought 
I  was  a  real  sailor  by  this  time.  I  looked  around  carefully. 
It  was  pretty  clear,  with  occasional  heavy  clouds,  and 
deep  shadows  under  them.  There  was  one  such  cloud  away 
down  to  the  northward,  and  I  thought  that  I  saw  a  vessel 
in  its  shadow.  The  clouds  were  moving  briskly,  and  as  I 
watched,  the  sun  suddenly  shone  there,  and  illumined  the 
topsail  yards  of  a  schooner  and  the  upper  half  of  her 
lower  sails.  It  was  like  a  spotlight  in  a  theatre,  suddenly 
shoving  the  vessel  into  plain  view  against  the  shadows 
which  surrounded  her.  There  was  but  one  such  rig  in  all 
the  seven  seas.  It  was  the  Annie  Battles.  She  had  left 
Papeete  within  an  hour,  probably,  and  was  standing  to  the 
northward. 

I  sighed.  "  Just  our  luck,"  I  said.  "If  she  had  only 
been  a  few  hours  later !  " 

"  Would  you  call  it  good  luck,  or  bad,  Timmie  ?  " 

"  I  should  call  it  hard  luck,  Peter.  Would  n't  you?  " 

"  Well,"  he  answered  slowly,  "  she  ain't  mine,  and  I 
don't  believe  in  looking  for  trouble.  I  suppose  Cap'n  Cof- 
fin calls  it  hard  luck.  You  can  see  for  yourself."  And  he 
jerked  his  head  in  the  direction  of  the  after  house. 

There  stood  Captain  Coffin,  a  glass  glued  to  his  eye. 
He  said  nothing,  but  he  had  no  need  to.  Anybody  could 
tell  from  his  face  what  his  thoughts  were. 


PAPEETE  345 

At  Papeete  we  got  our  water,  and  our  extra  casks,  al- 
though some  of  them  had  to  be  lashed  on  deck,  as  the  hold 
was  full.  It  took  several  days  to  get  this  done,  for  extra 
casks  were  not  plentiful,  and  the  men  could  not  be  denied 
some  liberty  ashore.  The  pleasures  that  Papeete  offered  to 
our  shore- famished  men  were  alluring,  and  it  was  hard  to 
get  them  back.  I  could  understand  this,  for  I  went  ashore 
too.  I  managed  to  resist  the  allurements  of  the  place, 
thanks  more  to  Peter  than  to  any  tendency  on  my  own  part 
to  asceticism,  and  I  had  a  thoroughly  good  time.  When  I 
got  back  to  the  ship  I  found  that  Captain  Coffin  had  been 
making  inquiries,  and  had  found  that  the  Annie  Battles, 
under  the  name  of  the  Seafoam,  had  sailed  on  a  trading 
trip  among  the  islands  to  the  eastward,  the  Paumotus  and 
the  Marquesas.  He  was  as  excited  as  a  boy,  and  full  of 
eagerness  and  glee. 

We  got  our  men  back  at  last,  and  sailed  to  the  north- 
ward. I  was  surprised  at  this,  for  we  were  bound  home, 
and  for  the  most  rapid  passage*  around  the  Horn  we 
should  have  started  out  to  the  southward ;  but  I  thought 
it  likely  that  Captain  Coffin  had  persuaded  Captain  Nel- 
son to  have  a  last  try  at  the  Battles.  If  she  stopped  at  the 
islands,  as  she  would,  making  frequent  stops,  we  should  be 
close  on  her  heels,  and  might  reasonably  hope  to  catch 
her.  At  one  of  the  Marquesas  Islands,  too,  there  was  a 
well-known  spring  of  very  good  water,  emptying  on  the 
beach.  Whalers  often  touched  there  for  water,  and  it 
might  have  been  in  Captain  Nelson's  mind  to  fill  up  his 
casks  there  for  the  long  run  around  the  Horn. 

The  days  passed,  and  nothing  happened.  Whatever 
eagerness  I  had  felt  oozed  away;  but  Captain  Coffin's  did 
not,  I  judged.  He  was  silent,  restless,  tense  with  it,  espe- 
cially as  we  began  to  raise  the  Paumotus,  one  after  an- 
other. These  are  atolls,  with  the  usual  coral  reefs,  sea- 
beach,  and  lagoon,  none  of  them  more  than  a  few  feet 
above  sea  level.     The  topmasts  of  the  Battles  would  be 


346  SHE  BLOWS! 

easily  seen  above  them,  unless  some  unusually  tall  coco- 
nut trees  were  in  the  way.  We  did  not  go  far  into  the 
archipelago,  for  it  is  dangerous  navigation  there  for  a  ves- 
sel as  large  as  the  Clearchus,  and  one  no  more  easily 
manageable.  The  passages  are  filled  with  hidden  dangers, 
and  the  currents  swift  and  treacherous. 

We  had  been  searching,  in  a  superficial  way,  for  a 
week  or  more,  when,  one  morning,  dawn  showed  us  a  small 
atoll,  a  few  miles  long.  We  heard  the  dull  boom  of  the  , 
surf,  and  with  the  growing  light  we  saw  a  long  white 
beach,  crowned  with  green  vegetation.  A  few  stunted  coco- 
palms  showed  their  green  tufts,  and  beyond  the  palms  the 
familiar  topsail  yards  of  the  Battles.  There  was  no  sign 
of  habitation,  and  we  found  out  later  that  this  atoll  was 
uninhabited,  and  visited  only  occasionally  by  canoe  par- 
ties from  some  other  atoll,  in  search  of  eggs,  or  fish,  or 
adventure.  At  the  time  it  seemed  strange  to  me  that  some- 
body from  the  crew  of  the  Battles  had  not  seen  us.  The 
Clearchus  must  have  been  as  familiar  to  them  as  the  Bat- 
tles was  to  us.  Then  I  concluded  that  they  had  not  seen  us 
because  they  were  close  under  the  palms,  and  had  had  no 
lookout  to  seaward,  and  perhaps  had  been  asleep.  I  was 
right  in  one  thing:  they  had  been  asleep.  They  were  not 
asleep  now,  for,  as  we  worked  around  to  find  the  opening 
into  the  lagoon,  we  heard  faint  noises,  as  if  they  were 
shouting  to  one  another. 

When  we  reached  a  point  from  which  we  could  see  into 
the  lagoon,  we  saw  that  the  schooner  was  plainly  aground*; 
there  were  a  number  of  large  canoes  drawn  up  on  the 
shore;  and  there  on  the  beach  was  the  crew  of  the  Battles, 
surrounded  by  natives,  and  fighting  for  their  lives.  I  heard 
no  guns,  and  supposed  that  they  must  have  been  lured 
ashore  by  the  prospect  of  trade,  and  then  attacked. 

Captain  Nelson  did  nothing  immediately,  but  turned  to 
Captain  Coffin.  I  chanced  to  be  near  them  at  the  time. 

"  What  do  you  think,  Fred  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Shall  we  try 


THE  BATTLES  CREW  IN  TROUBLE    347 

to  help  your  crew  there?  They  're  no  better  than  pirates, 
and  I  've  no  doubt  the  Kanakas  have  the  right  of  it." 
Some  particularly  villainous  example  of  thievery  on  the 
part  of  the  Battles  was  probably  at  the  bottom  of  the 
quarrel.  "  But  I  suppose  we  've  got  to." 

Captain  Coffin  nodded.  "  I  want  to  settle  their  hash  my- 
self." 

I  was  on  tiptoe  with  that  laughing  exhilaration  that 
always  came  upon  me  before  a  fight  of  any  kind,  and  I 
found  that  I  had  been  afraid  that  Captain  Nelson  would 
stay  out  of  it. 

I  dived  below,  where  I  gathered  all  the  arms  from  the 
cabin;  and,  the  steward  helping  me,  I  got  them  on  deck. 
I  found  three  boats  down.  They  were  Mr.  Macy's,  Cap- 
tain Coffin's,  and  mine,  in  which  the.  captain  was  going 
in  place  of  Mr.  Brown.  There  was  some  danger  to  the 
ship  in  leaving  her  so  lightly  manned,  for  the  islanders 
might  take  it  into  their  heads  to  attack  her;  but  he  took 
the  chance.  I  had  an  oak  wagon-spoke  in  addition  to  a 
spade.  I  had  found  it  among  the  firewood  taken  on  at  New 
Bedford.  A  wagon-spoke  is  an  excellent  weapon,  and  that 
was  not  the  only  time  I  used  one. 

It  took  us  some  time  to  find  the  opening  in  the  reef. 
There  were  several  false  leads,  and  we  found  the  break 
narrow  when  we  hit  upon  it.  I  wondered  that  the  Battles 
had  been  able  to  get  through. 

The  fighting  was  going  on  at  the  head  of  the  lagoon,  a 
little  over  half  a  mile  from  the  point  where  we  entered, 
too  far  off  to  see  what  had  been  happening.  All  we  could 
see  from  that  distance  was  a  confused  mass  of  men,  and 
all  we  heard  was  a  confused  shouting.  After  we  had 
straightened  out  on  the  course  to  the  beach,  I  saw  nothing 
but  the  backs  and  the  oars  of  the  men  before  me,  Captain 
Nelson  at  the  steering  oar,  and  the  other  boats  out  of  the 
tail  of  my  eye.  We  were  a  little  in  advance. 

The  shouting  grew  in  volume  as  we  approached  the 


843  SHE  BLOWS! 

shore,  but  I  heard  no  white  man's  shout.  They  had  no 
breath  to  waste.  We  were  perhaps  an  eighth  of  a  mile 
from  shore  when  Captain  Nelson  spoke  quietly,  saying 
that  some  twenty  of  the  islanders  were  swimming  out  to 
meet  us. 

"  Be  ready  with  your  knives  and  spades,  boys,"  he  said. 
"  Don't  let  them  get  hold  of  your  oars." 

The  men  were  not  supposed  to  have  knives  —  at  least, 
not  with  sharp  points,  but  two  or  three  of  the  Portuguese 
produced  them,  and  took  them  between  their  teeth;  and 
there  were  two  knives  in  each  boat,  and  the  hatchet. 

However,  we  pulled  away  from  them  and  grounded  on 
the  beach.  The  shock  of  it  very  nearly  sent  me  on  my  back 
in  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  I  saw  Captain  Nelson  covering 
our  landing  with  his  Spencer,  and  I  saw  him  raise  it  to 
his  shoulder  and  fire  once.  Then  we  tumbled  out,  I  with 
my  spade  and  my  wagon-spoke.  A  spear  whistled  over  my 
shoulder,  making  a  flesh  wound,  and  I  gave  a  roar,  and 
rushed  upon  the  irregular  line  of  islanders.  As  I  ran,  I 
remember  vaguely  that  I  laughed  and  shouted. 

I  have  no  clear  recollection  of  what  happened,  but  I 
do  know  that  I  had  no  fear  of  anything,  I  had  an  utter 
insensibility  to  pain,  and  a  fierce  joy  in  mere  fighting.  My 
wagon-spoke  was  a  more  handy  weapon  than  the  spade, 
which  I  used  to  ward  off  blows  aimed  at  me,  while  I 
wielded  the  wagon-spoke  as  a  club.  It  was  a  very  good 
club,  well-balanced  and  heavy,  with  sharp  corners  on  the 
hub  end.  I  was  pretty  strong  then,  and  could  swing  it  to 
some  purpose.  The  natives  —  I  do  not  like  to  call  them 
savages  —  had  been  armed  with  spears  of  hard  wood,  as 
dangerous  as  steel-pointed  spears,  and  with  a  war-club  of 
peculiar  shape,  made  of  ironwood.  Most  of  them  had  cast 
their  spears  by  this  time,  and  fought  with  their  clubs, 
much  as  I  did. 

I  do  not  know  just  how  many  islanders  there  were,  but 
there  must  have  been  well  over  a  hundred    altogether. 


FIGHT  WITH  THE  ISLANDERS      849 

There  were  eighteen  of  us,  and  about  twenty  in  the  crew 
of  the  Battles;  but  many  of  the  Battles'  men  had  been 
killed  or  disabled  before  we  got  there.  There  could  not 
have  been  more  than  a  half  a  dozen  left  on  their  feet.  I 
saw  Mr.  Wallet  transfixed  by  a  spear  within  six  feet  of 
me,  the  spear  in  the  hands  of  a  gigantic  islander.  I  cannot 
remember  that  I  felt  a  pang  of  pity  when  I  saw  Mr.  Wal- 
let go  down.  I  do  not  think  that  I  had  any  feeling  what- 
ever, or  that  I  should  have  had  whoever  it  had  been. 

The  man  next  to  Mr.  Wallet  was  evidently  of  a  different 
calibre.  He  was  bleeding  from  many  wounds,  and  fighting 
like  a  fiend.  The  man  with  the  spear  wrenched  it  free 
from  Wallet's  body,  and  lunged  at  this  man.  He  leaped 
forward,  tore  the  spear  from  the  other's  grasp,  and  like 
lightning  he  plunged  it  into  his  body.  It  went  clear 
through  and  came  out  at  the  back.  It  could  not  be  got  out 
again,  as  there  were  deep  cuts  upon  it,  making  a  series  of 
saw-teeth  on  the  edge  of  the  long  blade,  and  these  teeth 
stuck  on  the  ribs.  He  left  it  sticking  there,  looked  quickly 
around,  and  caught  sight  of  Captain  Coffin.  Apparently 
he  had  not  seen  him  before. 

I  found  out  a  little  later  that  the  man  was  Drew,  but  I 
guessed  as  much  then.  He  stood  still  for  a  moment,  and  I 
saw  the  changing  expressions  chase  each  other  across  his 
face.  There  was  despair  —  for  an  instant  —  and  then  a 
hardening,  and  the  fierce  light  came  back  to  his  eyes,  and 
a  scornful  smile  curled  his  lips,  but  hope  was  gone.  Here 
was  Coffin.  That  meant  that  he  would  be  carried  back  and 
hanged  if  he  survived  this  fight.  He  had  to  die,  anyway, 
and  he  preferred  to  die  fighting;  but  there  were  two  or 
three  of  us  that  he  meant  to  take  with  him.  His  first  move 
was  against  Captain  Coffin,  who  was  engaged  in  a  hand- 
to-hand  fight  with  two  natives.  These  natives,  I  think,  were 
not  much  given  to  hand-to-hand  work.  They  preferred  to 
stand  off  at  a  safe  distance  from  their  enemies  and  call 
names.  In  this  case  they  had  depended  upon  their  nuui- 


350  SHE  BLOWS! 

bers,  and  had  been  drawn  into  the  close  work  and  could 
not  get  out;  but  they  were  brave,  although  they  preferred 
the  method  of  ambush  and  massacre. 

Up  to  this  time  I  had  been  in  a  condition  of  exaltation 
with  the  pure  love  of  fighting.  Man  is  a  fighting  animal.  If 
he  were  not  he  would  never  have  got  so  far.  Whether  right 
or  wrong,  it  seems  to  me  hopeless  to  try  to  crush  out  that 
instinct  —  but  that  is  by  the  way.  The  events  just  de- 
scribed had  made  their  impression  on  my  eye,  but  at  the 
time  they  made  none  on  my  brain.  Now  I  roused  from 
my  daze,  my  brain  resumed  its  activity  with  a  rush,  and 
I  yelled  a  warning. 

Captain  Coffin  either  did  not  hear  me  or  did  not  dare  to 
turn  his  head.  Drew  had  grabbed  up  a  war-club  lying  be- 
side a  dead  savage,  and  was  trying  to  get  at  him,  but  his 
way  was  not  clear.  I  leaped  for  him  and  yelled  again. 
Other  islanders  were  coming  to  the  help  of  those  engaged 
with  Captain  Coffin,  and  he  was  becoming  the  centre  of 
the  fighting.  He  was  much  the  biggest  white  man  there. 
Macy  was  nearly  as  tall,  but  did  not  give  the  impression 
of  bigness  and  power  that  Captain  Coffin  did.  I  caught  a 
glimpse  of  Mr.  Macy  coming  up  on  the  other  side  of  Cap- 
tain Coffin,  and  remember  wondering  what  had  become  of 
the  Prince.  It  was  the  kind  of  a  fight  that  I  had  imagined 
he  would  love.  At  the  risk  of  my  life  I  glanced  about,  and 
saw  him  just  behind  me,  as  if  he  was  following  to  see 
that  no  harm  came  to  me.  There  was  the  gleam  of  battle 
in  his  eye,  his  face  was  set,  his  lips  drawn  back  in  a  tiger- 
snarl,  showing  his  white  teeth.  They  shone  in  his  ebony 
face  like  a  light  at  sea  on  a  dark  night. 

Captain  Coffin  might  have  heard  my  warning  yells,  but 
he  gave  no  sign.  It  would  have  been  death  for  him  to  look 
back.  Drew  was  slowly  making  his  way  toward  him, 
striking  at  the  natives  who  got  in  his  way.  A  big  native 
disputed  the  way,  and  I  got  almost  within  reach.  The 
islander  gave  before  Drew's  ferocious  assault.  Drew  let 


THE  PRINCE  IS  KILLED  851 

him  go,  and  pressed  on  toward  Captain  Coffin.  I  leaped 
again,  and  got  within  reach  as  he  was  in  the  act  of  bring- 
ing his  club  down  on  Captain  Coffin's  head.  I  struck  with 
all  my  might,  and  the  blow  went  true.  Drew's  wrist  was 
broken,  his  head  was  laid  open  in  a  long  line,  and  he  tot- 
tered. At  that  instant  I  heard  the  dull  report  of  a  Spencer. 
Drew's  body  whirled  about,  and  crumpled  in  a  heap. 
Captain  Nelson  had  done  it,  and  the  bullet  had  gone 
through  Drew's  body,  striking  down  one  of  the  natives. 

Relieved  of  the  anxiety  of  the  moment,  I  dropped  my 
hands,  and  drew  a  long  breath.  That  was  no  time  for 
dropping  my  hands,  and  I  was  brought  quickly  back  to  the 
present  by  the  prick  of  a  spear.  I  squirmed  away,  and 
looked  up  to  see  a  club  descending.  There  was  no  time  to 
use  my  club,  or  to  raise  my  spade,  which  hung  in  my  left 
hand.  There  was  a  rush  beside  me,  and  the  Prince,  appar- 
ently empty-handed,  launched  himself  at  my  assailant. 
My  head  was  saved,  and  both  went  down,  just  out  of  my 
reach.  The  Prince  had  broken  his  lance,  but  had  saved 
the  blade,  which  he  plunged  into  the  throat  of  the 
islander.  At  the  same  instant  an  ironwood  war-club 
crashed  down  on  his  head. 

At  that  sight  my  fury  returned.  I  have  no  knowledge 
of  what  followed  in  the  next  half-hour.  I  knew  that  not 
one  of  the  Battles'  crew  was  left  on  his  feet,  and  I  knew 
dimly  that  Kane  was  on  one  side  of  me,  fighting  with  a 
wild  joy,  and  that  on  the  other  Mr.  Macy  was  fight- 
ing with  equal  fury.  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  saved  my 
life  many  times,  for  I  knew  no  caution,  and  my  only 
thought  was  to  avenge  the  Prince.  Mr.  Macy's  fury  was 
of  the  cold  kind  —  a  cool  head  and  a  hot  heart  —  which 
does  so  much  more  damage  than  a  mere  blind  rage  like 
mine.  At  last  I  realized  that  the  islanders  were  trying  to 
get  at  our  boats. 

There  were  five  or  six  times  as  many  of  them  as  of  us, 
but  Captain  Nelson  managed  to  keep  his  force  between 


352  SHE  BLOWS! 

them  and  our  boats.  None  of  his  men  was  killed  except 
the  Prince,  but  nearly  all  were  wounded  more  or  less  seri- 
ously, and  all  were  weary.  I  know  that,  at  last,  with  re- 
turning sanity,  I  found  myself  hardly  able  to  lift  my  club, 
and  utterly  unable  to  strike  again  with  my  reddened 
spade.  We  were  being  forced  back  to  the  boats.  It  looked 
like  a  day  for  the  islanders,  and  if  they  would  have  let  us 
we  would  have  withdrawn.  I  heard  nothing  but  a  tumult 
of  sound,  and  I  could  not  see  well. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  great  shout  from  behind  the  na- 
tives, and  I  saw  a  considerable  body  of  men  break  through 
the  sparse  vegetation  which  crowned  the  beach.  It  hap- 
pened before  my  eyes ;  a  crowd  of  men  —  white  men, 
twenty-five  or  thirty  of  them  —  armed  with  lances,  spades, 
and  knives,  issuing  from  that  tangle  to  seaward,  and  rush- 
ing down  on  the  rear  of  the  islanders.  They,  poor  chaps, 
gave  one  glance,  then  broke  and  ran.  Some  of  them  ran 
to  their  canoes,  others  ran  directly  into  the  water,  and 
swam  away,  full  tilt.  The  canoes  followed,  and  we  let 
them  go. 

I  knew  we  ought  to  put  after  them  and  see  that  they  did 
no  harm  to  the  ship,  but  I  could  not  have  pulled  a  pound. 
Neither  could  most  of  the  others.  I  could  only  stand  there, 
my  hands  hanging  limp  at  my  sides,  and  gaze  after  the 
canoes.  I  watched  them  out  of  sight  through  the  passage 
to  the  sea.  I  was  dimly  conscious  of  a  young  chap  who 
walked  around  me,  looking  me  over,  but  I  paid  him  no 
attention.  At  last  he  stood  still  before  me,  grinning.  He 
poked  me  in  the  ribs.  I  squirmed,  for  my  ribs  were  sore. 

"  Hello,  Tim,"  he  said. 

I  looked  at  him  then;  looked  at  him  long  and  hard, 
while  he  stood  and  grinned.  It  was  Jimmy  Appleby. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

Of  that  meeting  with  Jimmy  Appleby  the  less  said  the 
better.  I  beheve  that,  in  my  wearied  and  weakened  state, 
I  broke  down  and  cried,  but  I  have  no  clear  recollection. 
The  first  thing  that  I  remember  clearly  is  being  well 
down  the  lagoon,  a  passenger  in  my  own  boat.  Our  new 
shipmates  were  doing  the  pulling,  although  those  of  the 
regular  crew  who  were  able  sat  on  the  thwarts  beside  the 
fresh  men,  and  bent  their  backs  with  them.  Two  of  our 
men,  severely  wounded,  lay  on  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  half 
under  the  thwarts,  and  there,  too,  was  the  body  of  the 
Prince,  covered  with  the  sail.  Captain  Nelson  stood  at  the 
steering  oar,  his  face  grave  and  set,  looking  out  ahead.  I 
crawled  up  to  my  place  on  the  midship  thwart  beside  a 
stranger,  and  got  my  hands  on  my  oar;  and  the  stranger 
turned  his  head  and  gave  me  a  smile. 

We  got  safely  out  of  the  lagoon  to  sea,  and  on  board 
the  ship.  The  canoes  were  far  down  to  leeward.  They  had 
given  the  ship  a  wide  berth,  but  might  come  back  again, 
after  we  had  gone,  to  pick  up  their  dead.  I  did  not  know 
what  customs  they  practised  in  that  respect.  I  know  I 
was  surprised  to  find  that  it  was  not  yet  noon.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  almost  a  lifetime  had  passed  since  we  had  left 
the  ship  that  morning.  The  wounded  were  cared  for  at 
once.  Then  the  body  of  the  Prince  was  passed  up,  and 
laid  on  the  hatch  cover.  I  drew  near  to  it,  and  found  Peter 
beside  me.  I  had  forgotten  Jimmy  Appleby. 

Peter  said  nothing,  but  he  laid  his  arm  across  my  shoul- 
ders, and  we  saw  the  sailmaker  come  with  a  piece  of  old 
canvas,  and  his  palm,  and  stitch  the  Prince  up  carefully,  a 
few  links  of  old  chain  cable  at  his  feet.  I  saw  the  crew 
gathering  with  bared  heads,  and  Captain  Nelson  standing 


S54  SHE  BLOWS! 

with  a  little  book,  but  I  did  not  hear  what  he  read.  The 
man  in  that  long  white  bundle  —  it  shone  dazzlingly  in 
the  hot  sunshine  —  would  not  have  been  there  except  for 
me.  I  hid  my  face  in  my  arm  against  the  rigging,  hot  tears 
burned  my  eyes,  and  my  shoulders  shook;  there  was  a 
gentle  noise  of  canvas  slipping  on  wood,  a  splash,  and  I 
raised  my  head  to  see  Captain  Nelson  clapping  his  book 
shut,  and  the  men  as  they  turned  away. 

Peter  patted  my  shoulder.  "  Don't  ye  grieve,  lad,"  he 
said.  "  He  'd  have  liked  this  way  of  it  better.  He  was  a 
good  shipmate,  if  his  skin  was  black.  Come  now,  you  're 
wanted.  A  bite  of  dinner  '11  do  you  a  world  of  good." 

At  that  I  am  afraid  I  laughed.  It  was  hysterical,  but  I 
was  quieted  somewhat,  and  I  went  below. 

I  had  not  yet  had  a  chance  to  hear  Jimmy's  story.  It 
had  to  wait  still  longer,  for  the  boats  were  sent  ashore 
again  in  the  afternoon,  with  all  the  new  men,  and  some  of 
ours.  They  buried  the  men  of  the  Battles  as  well  as  they 
could.  It  was  almost  impossible  to  dig  in  that  beach,  for 
it  was  -ill  coral  below  the  very  surface.  Then  they  carried 
their  boats  across  from  the  ocean  side  to  the  lagoon,  not 
more  than  three  or  four  hundred  feet,  but  the  low  sum- 
mit thickly  grown  up  with  coconut-palms  and  low  bushes 
and  vines.  It  must  have  reminded  Captain  Coffin  of  the 
"  haulover "  at  Nantucket,  except  for  the  growth.  The 
"  haulover  "  is  nothing  but  bare  sand,  and  I  believe  the 
sea  had  not  broken  through  at  that  time.  These  boats 
which  I  speak  of  were  those  in  which  our  new  friends  had 
come.  I  should  not  speak  of  them  as  our  new  friends,  for 
many  of  them  were  old  friends. 

Captain  Coffin,  with  a  boat's  crew,  stayed  on  the  Bat- 
tles that  night,  looking  her  over.  Jimmy  did  not,  and  I  got 
his  story.  He  was  bursting  with  it.  His  ship  was  the  John 
and  Alice.  After  I  left  New  Bedford  his  desire  for  the 
same  sort  of  life,  always  strong,  had  become  intense.  He 
gave  his  parents  no  peace  for  nearly  two  years,  finally 


JIMMY  APPLEBY'S  STORY  855 

threatening  to  run  away  if  they  wonld  not  let  him  go. 
They  gave  in  at  that,  and  in  the  summer  of  1874  he 
shipped  before  the  mast  on  the  John  and  Alice.  They  had 
been  out  just  about  a  year,  had  cruised  off  the  River 
Plate,  doubled  the  Horn,  and  covered  the  On  Shore  and 
Off  Shore  grounds.  They  were  making  their  leisurely  way 
toward  Japan  when  the  John  and  Alice  was  sunk  by  a 
whale  in  145°  W.,  7°  S.,  carrying  their  five  hundred  bar- 
rels of  oil  down  with  her.  The  crew  took  to  the  boats. 
There  had  been  time  to  stow  plenty  of  provisions  and 
water  in  the  boats,  and  they  were  making  for  Tahiti, 
which  they  would  have  reached  safely,  without  doubt.  But 
they  sighted  some  of  these  low-lying  islands,  and  went  in 
among  them.  They  had  been  sailing  through  the  passages 
of  the  archipelago  for  two  days.  At  daylight  on  that  morn- 
ing they  saw  the  topmasts  of  the  Clearchus  showing  dimly 
in  the  distance,  and  the  topmasts  of  the  Battles  and  the 
coco-palms  soon  rose.  They  were  making  for  the  ship, 
passing  just  outside  the  line  of  surf  which  fringed  the 
island,  when  they  heard  our  tumult,  and  landed  the  best 
way  they  could.  They  managed  it,  but  lost  one  of  their 
boats  in  the  surf,  capsized  and  pretty  badly  stove.  The 
surf  had  not  been  heavy,  or  they  would  have  lost  more,  and 
possibly  some  men.  Captain  Nelson  had  the  stove  boat 
brought  aboard  for  Peter's  surgery. 

Of  course  Jimmy's  narrative  was  not  so  briefly  told  as 
I  have  given  it.  He  was  discursive  and  conversational,  and 
given  to  embellishment.  I  kept  him  up  until  late  that 
night,  telling  me  all  he  knew  of  my  mother,  my  father, 
my  brothers,  Tom  and  Josh;  and  I  asked  him  about  all 
my  friends,  ending  up  with  Ann  McKim.  About  Ann  he 
was  enthusiastic,  speaking  of  her  in  the  slang  of  the  day. 
I  forget  what  expression  he  used,  but  it  corresponded  to 
"  perfect  peach."  I  could  well  believe  it. 

Captain  Coffin  had  found  the  Annie  Battles  pretty 
firmly  aground,  and  the  coral  had  punched  a  hole  in  her. 


S56  SHE  BLOWS! 

It  was  not  a  hopeless  hole,  although  enough  to  justify  any 
master  in  abandoning  his  vessel.  Captain  Coffin  was  not 
that  kind.  All  the  stuff  was  taken  out  of  her,  and  spread  on 
the  beach.  Then  she  was  hastily  patched  on  the  inside,  and 
pumped  out.  That  was  very  nearly  enough  to  float  her, 
but  not  quite,  for  the  rise  of  the  tide  at  this  point  is 
small.  Still  there  was  that  little  peak  of  hard,  sharp  coral, 
which  they  were  afraid  would  tear  out  more  of  her  plank- 
ing when  eight  boats  were  fast,  with  forty  oars  pulling  at 
her.  Our  Kanakas  had  to  go  down  and  cut  away  the  coral. 
Then  she  was  beached,  and  hove  down  by  our  cutting- 
tackles  from  her  mastheads  to  coconut-trunks.  Her  cut- 
ting-tackles had  disappeared  —  probably  thrown  over- 
board. 

We  all  helped  in  this  work,  and  I  found  that  I  had 
more  bruises  and  unimportant  wounds  than  I  had  believed 
possible;  but  the  condition  was  common  to  all  who  had 
been  in  the  fight,  and  I  was  interested  in  the  work,  which 
was  familiar.  We  simply  had  to  dispose  of  the  corpses 
within  a  couple  of  days  of  beginning  the  work.  That  was 
an  unpleasant  job.  We  took  them  far  down  to  leeward, 
and  buried  them  hastily  in  a  cavern  we  found  in  the  coral, 
but  that  did  not  entirely  get  rid  of  the  stench  at  the  beach. 
It  was  probably  from  the  bodies  of  the  white  men  buried 
there  —  in  very  shallow  graves. 

It  took  two  weeks  to  get  the  Battles  beached  and  re- 
paired. Then  we  got  her  afloat  again,  the  topmasts  and 
yards  sent  up,  sails  bent  and  everj^thing  shipshape.  With 
all  her  cargo  —  mostly  trading  stuff  —  piled  on  deck,  we 
towed  her  out  through  the  pass  in  the  reef,  and  she  was 
at  sea  again,  where  she  belonged.  She  tied  up  alongside 
the  Clearchus,  and  there  began  a  wholesale  transfer  of 
cargo. 

The  Battles  first  stowed  eight  hundred  barrels  of  our 
oil,  greatly  relieving  us.  Most  of  her  cargo  of  trading 
stuff  had  been  taken  on  the  Clearchus,  indicating  that  we 
were  likely  to  stop  at  the  Marquesas,  and    possibly  at 


TRANSFERRED  TO  THE  BATTLES    357 

some  other  islands.  I  was  gratified  at  that,  for  I  wanted 
to  see  the  Marquesas.  The  division  of  water  and  provi- 
sions was  unequal,  the  Battles  being  given  enough  to 
carry  her  home,  while  the  Clearchus  would  be  obliged  to 
fill  her  water-casks,  at  least.  At  last  she  was  ready  to  go. 
She  cast  off,  for  the  sea,  which  had  been  unusually  quiet 
all  through  the  transfer,  began  to  roughen.  She  did  not 
go  far,  however,  but  lay  hove  to,  no.t  far  from  us.  Captain 
Coffin  was  in  the  cabin  with  Captain  Nelson,  and  I  was 
sent  for. 

I  had  watched  the  transfer  of  cargo  and  the  selection 
of  a  crew  for  the  Battles,  with  a  mind  at  ease.  I  had 
taken  it  for  granted  that  she  would  take  the  new  men,  and 
most  of  their  boats.  Jimmy  was  going,  I  knew,  and  I  ac- 
cepted the  fact  with  small  regret,  for  I  found  that  a  sepa- 
ration of  three  years  had  severed  many  of  the  ties  which 
had  bound  us  together.  I  went  into  the  cabin  with  no  small 
wonder  what  they  could  want  of  me;  probably  nothing 
more  than  the  same  old  bluish-white  pitcher,  with  some- 
thing hot  in  it. 

That  was  not  what  they  wanted.  I  was  hardly  in  the 
cabin  when  Captain  Coffin  asked  me  whether  I  wanted  to 
go  with  him.  He  added  that  he  was  going  aboard  the  Bat- 
tles within  a  few  minutes,  and  if  I  wished,  he  would. take 
me  along.  I  was  too  dumbfounded  to  answer  immediately, 
and  Captain  Nelson,  taking  my  answer  for  granted,  sent 
me  out  again  at  once,  saying  that  I  had  only  time  to  get 
my  things  together,  and  to  hurry,  at  that.  So  I  found  my- 
self outside  the  cabin  door,  stumbling  up  the  stairs,  with- 
out having  uttered  a  word.  I  hurried  and  got  my  belong- 
ings into  my  chest,  carried  the  chest  out,  and  went  to  bid 
a  hasty  good-bye  to  Peter,  without  having  come  to  a  deci- 
sion. There  was  a  certain  reluctance  in  my  actions.  I 
wanted  more  time;  yes,  more  time,  at  least.  But  still  I 
went.  I  said  half  a  dozen  words  to  Peter,  and  half  a 
dozen  words  to  Mr.  Brown,  whom  I  met  on  my  way  aft. 

If  I  had  known  the  truth  —  and  been  willing  to  tell  it, 


358  SHE  BLOWS! 

■which  is  quite  a  different  matter  —  and  if  it  had  heen  a 
question  merely  of  choosing  between  Mr.  Brown  and 
Jimmy,  I  should  have  chosen  Mr.  Brown.  Of  course  I  was 
glad  to  see  Jimmy,  but  he  was  only  a  boy,  "with  a  boy's 
interest  in  things,  and  that  did  not  satisfy  me,  possibly 
because  I  had  been  so  long  without  companions  of  my 
own  age.  Mr.  Brown  seemed  much  more  of  a  real  com- 
panion, with  interests  which  had  come  to  be  my  own.  I 
never  saw  him  again. 

It  is  a  curious  thing  how  people  go  out  of  your  life. 
Here  was  Mr.  Brown,  who,  alone  of  the  officers,  had  ad- 
mitted me  to  intimacy.  I  had  become  very  fond  of  him; 
and  he  dropped  out  as  suddenly  and  as  completely  as  if 
he  had  fallen  overboard.  I  do  not  like  it.  It  is  not  right, 
I  cannot  reconcile  myself  to  it,  and  I  have  never  been 
able  to  understand  it.  For  years  I  kept  expecting  to  see 
him,  but  it  is  not  likely  now,  for  he  would  be  nearly 
eighty,  and  probably  he  is  dead  long  ago.  He  left 
the  ship  at  once  upon  her  arrival  in  New  Bedford,  and 
vanished.  Why?  I  wish  I  knew.  I  found,  upon  inquiry, 
that  his  share  of  the  voyage  —  his  lay  —  was  sent  to  an 
address  in  New  York.  I  wrote,  but  nothing  was  known  of 
him,  and  that  ended  the  chapter. 

Peter  I  did  see  again.  He  became  a  frequent  and  wel- 
come visitor  at  my  father's  house,  and  later  at  my  own. 
Ann  McKim  liked  him,  and  she,  my  father,  my  mother, 
and  Peter  spent  many  an  evening  in  going  over  the  events 
of  the  voyage,  a  chart  spread  out,  and  all  four  heads  bent 
over  it.  I  sat  back  in  the  shadows  and  watched  them.  But  I 
am  getting  ahead  of  my  story.  There  is  not  much  more  to 
tell,  so  have  a  little  patience,  and  it  will  be  over. 

I  was  still  in  a  sort  of  daze  when  I  got  aboard  of  the 
Battles,  and  she  began  to  drop  the  Clearchus.  I  watched 
the  old  ship,  with  all  sail  set,  sink  below  the  horizon. 
When  I  could  no  longer  make  out  even  her  topgallant 
yards,  I  turned,  and  went  slowly  below.  I  was  to  bunk  in 
the  cabin,  I  found,  as  Assistant  Navigator,  a  totally  un- 


THE  RUN  HOME  359 

necessary  berth.  Captain  Coffin  had  two  of  the  mates  of 
the  John  and  Alice,  both  good  navigators,  and  he  was  a 
good  navigator,  of  course;  but  there  was  room  in  the 
cabin  for  four,  and  he,  in  the  kindness  of  his  heart,  gave 
the  fourth  berth  to  me.  Before  we  got  home  I  was  made 
third  mate,  which  was  simply  ridiculous.  Probably  Cap- 
tain Coffin  wished  to  make  it  easy  for  me  to  get  a  third 
mate's  berth  on  another  voyage,  which  was  kind  and 
thoughtful.  The  Annie  Battles  was  much  overmanned, 
with  a  total  of  twenty-eight  men,  leaving  forty-two  on  the 
Clearchus.  With  so  many  men  there  was  not  much  for  any 
one  to  do,  although  we  managed  to  keep  the  men  busy 
enough. 

The  run  home  was  without  incident  worthy  of  remark. 
We  reached  Cape  Horn  in  January,  the  middle  of  the 
southern  summer,  and  had  no  great  difficulty  and  no  more 
bad  weather  than  is  always  met  there.  In  the  cabin,  as  I 
was,  although  not  yet  a  mate,  I  could  not  chum  with 
Jimmy,  who  was  before  the  mast,  and  I  found  it  rather 
a  lonesome  berth.  There  was  nothing  for  me  to  do  but 
attend  to  my  duties,  which  were  light,  and  watch  the 
schooner  sail.  She  was  a  very  fast  and  easy  vessel,  and 
very  wet  in  a  sea;  but  she  was  not  in  the  same  class  as 
the  Virginia,  Marshall,  master.  If  I  had  not  had  that  ex- 
perience I  should  have  enjoyed  the  Battles  more.  But  I 
missed  the  discipline,  the  trimness,  the  everlasting  Tight- 
ness of  the  Virginia.  Having  seen  that,  nothing  less  would 
ever  satisfy  me  completely. 

It  was  when  we  crossed  the  line  that  I  was  made  third 
mate.  Not  long  after,  in  the  latitude  of  about  15°  N.,  we 
ran  into  a  gale,  which  started  the  seams  of  the  patch  on 
the  bottom.  No  doubt  Cape  Horn  weather  had  something 
to  do  with  it,  but  we  had  had  no  proper  planking  to  mend 
it  with,  and  it  was  rather  weak.  That  started  a  leak  which 
increased  from  day  to  day.  With  our  extra  men,  Captain 
Coffin  hoped  that  we  could  pump  her  home;  but  by  the 
time  we  were  off  Hatteras  it  had  increased  so  much  thai 


SCO  SHE  BLOWS! 

the  men  were  kept  steadily  at  the  pumps,  and  we  put  into 
Norfolk. 

I  left  the  Battles  at  Norfolk.  I  was  anxious  to  get  home, 
and  could  not  even  wait  for  the  boat,  which  would  have 
been  cheaper.  I  went  by  train,  and  got  in  at  the  old 
wooden  station  on  Pearl  Street  —  "deepo  "  we  called  it, 
early  Egyptian  architecture  —  with  less  than  a  dollar  in 
my  pocket.  It  was  only  a  few  blocks  from  my  home,  how- 
ever, and  what  use  had  I  for  money?  I  ran  all  the  way. 

As  I  turned  the  last  corner,  I  stopped  with  a  gasp.  I 
had  barely  escaped  running  into  a  girl  —  and  such  a  girl ! 
I  knew  her  at  once,  although  she  had  blossomed  since  I 
went  away,  and  she  was  wearing  no  ostrich  plume  in  her 
hat.  Jimmy  had  not  exaggerated. 

She  had  stopped,  too.  She  had  to,  for  I  brought  to  di- 
rectly in  front  of  her. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  with  a  little  smile,  "  I  beg  your  par- 
don." 

"  Ann !  "  I  said  breathlessly.  "  Ann  McKim,  don't  you 
know  me?  " 

I  put  out  my  hand,  and  her  hand  came  slowly  forward 
to  meet  it,  while  she  looked  up  at  me  doubtfully.  I 
watched  the  changing  expression  of  her  eyes.  Recognition 
came  into  them  suddenly,  and  she  clasped  my  hand 
warmly. 

"  Goody  gracious !  "  she  cried.  "  It 's  Tim,  I  do  believe ! 
It 's  not  strange  that  I  did  n't  know  you !  How  you  've 
grown  and  broadened!  I  might  have  taken  you  for  your 
father.  You  're  as  big  as  he  is." 

"  Am  I  ?  "  I  grinned,  holding  to  her  hand  as  if  it  were 
my  mooring.  "  Am  I,  Ann  ?  " 

"  And  you  're  the  color  of  new  copper,"  she  added. 
"  Have  you  been  home  yet  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head.  "  I  was  just  going  there  when  I 
nearly  ran  you  down." 

"  Well,  go  along,  Timmie,  for  mercy's  sake,  and  let 
your  mother  get  a  sight  of   you."    She    freed   her   hand 


ANN  McKIM  —  AND  MOTHER       361 

gently,  and  gave  me  a  little  push.  "  Do  they  expect  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  came  by  train.  It  '11  be  a  surprise." 

"  Why  did  n't  you  let  them  know?  " 

"  Did  n't  think  of  it.  We  —  but  I  '11  tell  you  all  about 
it  —  " 

"  To-night.  I  '11  come  in  pretty  late  —  nearly  nine 
o'clock.  Good-bye." 

She  was  gone  around  the  corner  before  I  could  say  a 
word.  I  gaped  at  the  corner,  then  ran  on  again.  Our  house 
was  only  a  little  way  up  the  street.  Nobody  locked  their 
doors  in  those  days,  and  dashing  up  the  steps  without 
stopping,  I  threw  open  the  front  door.  I  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment, with  my  hand  on  the  doorknob,  listening  for  a  sound 
to  let  me  know  where  anybody  was.  How  often  I  had 
done  just  that!  My  mother  might  be  in  the  kitchen,  or 
upstairs  in  her  room,  sewing.  I  heard  nothing  but  a  faint 
humming. 

"Mother!"  I  called. 

The  humming  continued.  "Who's  that?"  my  mother 
answered,  as  if  she  was  busy.  "  Tom  or  Josh?  I  never  can 
tell  you  apart  by  your  voices.  What  are  you  home  for 
now?  Is  anything  the  matter?" 

I  snickered  nervously.  "  It 's  me,  mother.  It 's  Tim." 

The  humming  stopped  suddenly.  "  What !  It 's  who  ?  " 

I  snickered  again.  I  knew  so  well  just  how  she  looked, 
stopping  her  sewing,  her  foot  on  the  treadle,  and  her  head 
up,  listening. 

"  It 's  Tim.  I  'm  coming  up." 

There  was  a  shriek,  and  the  sound  of  a  chair  falling.  I 
bounded  up  the  stairs,  and  met  her.  At  sight  of  me  she 
stopped  for  an  instant. 

"  Mercy!  "  she  cried.  "  Is  that  my  little  Tim?  " 

Then  her  arms  were  around  me,  and  she  was  laughing 
and  crying  on  my  shoulder. 

THE   END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


f£&fe  i«te 


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IfcY  2  9 


AUG  7    1968 


Form  L9-50»i-7,'54(5990)444 


A  A      000155  096    1 


